


You're Mine

by Contesa_lui_Alucard



Series: You're Mine [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Cheating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Infidelity, Italian Mafia, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Murder, Oral Sex, Sex, Verbal Abuse, Violence, except he's very nice to you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28004673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contesa_lui_Alucard/pseuds/Contesa_lui_Alucard
Summary: Your husband Jimmy needs investors for his failing restaurant. He grabs the ear of mafia head Kylo Ren, asking for help, who agrees. But little does Jimmy know, it wasn't his impeccable pitch that swayed Kylo. No, Kylo always gets what he wants, and what he wants is you.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/You
Series: You're Mine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084472
Comments: 44
Kudos: 277





	1. (Don't Go) I Never Wanted Anybody More Than I Wanted You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my first attempt at a Dead Dove!
> 
> I would like to start by thanking Adamsnackdriver on Tumblr for all of their help. I had this idea rattling around in my brain for months, but I didn't know where to take it. Without them, it would still just be a half-dreamed-up scrap of paper.
> 
> Please heed the warnings, this story is heavy. The reader is on the receiving end of verbal and physical abuse at the hands of her husband. Kylo Ren is a dangerous man, but he is painted as the hero in this story. Please consider if these are topics that may trigger you.
> 
> The entire story has already been written, so no worries about waiting for it to finish!
> 
> I hope you enjoy <3 If you want to come find me on Tumblr, I'm Contesa-lui-Alucard on there too!

Sometimes, love finds us in the most unexpected of ways.

And sometimes, we have to get our hands a little dirty in order to obtain it. 

The world had seemed like your oyster, once upon a time. You came from an average background, got through school and joined the workforce, a woman who didn’t need a man, you provided for yourself and you liked it that way.

Then you met him, Jimmy, and all of that changed. He owned the Italian restaurant off 9th street on the West side, Casa Flora, and you met him in that very restaurant, one night while out to dinner with your girlfriends. He seemed very charming, was undoubtedly handsome, and it wasn’t long before you began seeing eachother more seriously.

But looks can be deceiving.

You began to suspect things, as the relationship progressed. He seemed to work constantly, and while you knew running a restaurant was a full time job, sometimes he wouldn’t come home for days on end, and that just didn’t seem right. Especially not when you began to catch sight of the hickies that would peek out from his collar. Sometimes he would lose his temper with you, holler at you over the smallest things, but then he’d apologize and blame it on the stress. All of it began to upset you though, you were lonely and hurt, and you made that clear to him. That’s when the insults began. You were belittled, berated, made to feel ugly and unwanted. No one would ever want you, only him, you were lucky to have him. You knew that wasn’t true, but…

His words took their toll, and when he proposed, you said yes.

The first thing he did was combine your finances. You hadn’t known just how much debt the restaurant was in, _he_ was in, but he told you that’s just how the restaurant business is. You believed him, because how should you know differently? You weren’t too bright after all, as Jimmy liked to _remind_ you. He was looking for investors though, hoping he could lure in some rich cats to help get his swanky spot out of debt. He was in a great location, the place was packed every night, who could resist?

He caught wind of a charity event happening at the Tribeca Rooftop on Desbrosses Street that Friday, snagged you both tickets, knew a bunch of stiffs with too much money would be in attendance, thought he might garner more sympathy if he had his pretty little Suzie Homemaker on his arm.

You used the last of the available credit on your card to buy a gown from Macy’s, some lower end designer’s last season leftover, and did your hair and makeup as best as you could using what the drugstore had to offer. 

He sneered at you, when you emerged from your bedroom that night, but dismissed it with a, “whatever, doesn’t matter what you look like, I’m the one who’s gonna get the investors begging for a piece of my restaurant, not you.” Your heart ached at the barb, but he was right, you were nothing worth looking at, what did it matter? The cab ride over was spent with him yammering about his plans to sucker the investors in, while you sat quietly and stared out the window at the beautiful city lights, wishing you were anywhere else but here, anyone else but you.

He didn’t wait for you to get out of the cab when you pulled up out front, as you teetered on your too-high heels to compensate for the length of your gown. You didn’t have the time or money to get it hemmed, so this was your only option. But you didn’t mind, you carefully picked your way up the steps without assistance and entered the lobby with eyes wide.

The venue was filled wall to wall with what were clearly wealthy people, a sea of tuxes and shimmering gowns. You felt completely out of place, especially since Jimmy had left you to your own devices, and so you made the decision to hole up at the bar. You asked for something simple, and the bartender obliged with a smile, handing you your drink with a wink. You felt your face heat up, thanking him, just barely getting the rim of the glass to your lips before you were being tugged sharply by the wrist, spilling some of your drink down your arm. Jimmy whispered a harsh, “Where the fuck _were_ you,” as he dragged you across the room, whipping you around just before rejoining the group of men he must have been schmoozing. When he speaks to them, it’s all sickly sweet, macho molasses, “This is my wife. She’s a little, _you know_ , but I love her to death.” The men give Jimmy a sympathetic look before they turn to eye you slowly, with expressions that are a mix of disdain and desire. You wish you could sink into the floor.

Unbeknownst to you, these men are not the only ones whose eyes you’ve caught. A man dressed in an immaculate tuxedo, raven black hair swept back, pale face completely clean shaven, who had been standing just beside you at the bar before Jimmy dragged you away, stands watching the scene unfold while slowly sipping his scotch. It was your voice that caught his attention first, soft yet confident, and undoubtedly kind. You had thanked the bartender like he’d just handed you a stack of hundred dollar bills rather than a stiff drink. When he turned to glance at you, he was immediately struck by your beauty. There was something graceful about you, angelic, a warmth and light that radiated from within. He was just about to introduce himself when you had been so violently snatched away, and while he’d wanted to pull out the 9mm he had strapped under his jacket and kill that son of a bitch on the spot, he knew such an act would not land him anywhere beneficial. He had a short temper, yes, but also a calculating mind, that until now had never failed to get him what he wanted, and keep him from getting caught. So instead he watched.

Jimmy’s hand sits like lead at the small of your back, palms practically sweating through your gown, while he attempts to convince these men to give him their money. You drift off, letting your eyes wander around the room, that strange sensation of being watched prickling at the back of your neck. You’re pulled back to reality by Jimmy’s harsh bark to get one of the men a refill on his drink. You nod, taking the man’s empty glass, more than happy to take the opportunity to get away. Jimmy commands you to be quick about it but you’re already on your way across the room before he can finish.

You sidle up to the bar once more, asking for the man’s drink while quickly finishing your own. The bartender looks at you a little more sympathetically this time, but you brush it off. What’s there to be sympathetic for? You’re just fetching a refill for someone. As the bartender has his back turned to you, you feel those eyes on you again, and lift your head to scan your surroundings, but it does not take you long to find the source. The man beside you smiles when you catch his honey eyes, extending one very large hand to you from where he stands leant up against the bar top, “Hello, angel,” his deep voice rumbles. You are struck by how handsome he is, wondering if it’s you he’s even talking to at first. A long, pale face framed with shoulder length sable hair, set with a large, aquiline nose, full lips and a prominent brow regards you warmly, you are all but entranced by his gaze, extending your hand to slip into his. He takes it gently in his massive grip, lifting it to place a soft kiss to your knuckles. You are intimidated by his size, he stands far taller than you do, and is three times as broad, thick from shoulder to hip and stacked with obvious muscle, apparent even underneath his impressively tailored tuxedo. A large designer watch glints on his wrist, catching the light as he lowers your hand, although he doesn’t let it go just yet.

“H-Hello,” you manage to stutter out, smiling shyly up at him. He is large, yes, frighteningly large, with a set to his brow that is dangerous in its darkness, but… there’s something so warm about his eyes, you’re helplessly drawn in.

“What’s your name, angel?” he asks, one large thumb flicking over the ridges of your knuckles as he awaits your answer. You tell him your name, barely managing to get the words out, and he grins a little wider at the answer, before introducing himself, “I’m Kylo, Kylo Ren.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mister Ren,” a shiver running up your arm from the spot where he continues to stroke at your skin.

“I assure you, the pleasure is mine,” he replies, suavely, _deadly_ , “and please, call me Kylo.” You bite your lip and nod.

“Who are you here with tonight, angel?” he casually asks, although something tells you the answer is incredibly important to him. You look over to where Jimmy stands, catching sight of him, and just as you turn to look away, Jimmy catches sight of _you_ , and he does not like what he sees. You swallow nervously, watching as Jimmy excuses himself from the men and begins to make his way towards you with a scowl hanging heavy on his face. When you turn back to Kylo, he too is watching Jimmy, with an expression darker than anything Jimmy could ever even _hope_ to pull, “Is that your date?” Kylo asks quietly, seriously. “Yes,” you swallow nervously, already preparing to pull away, “that’s my husband. I should go, I’m s—“

But Kylo’s grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you where you stand. Jimmy breaches the crowd, coming to a stop before you both, furious eyes shifting from you, to Kylo, to your joined hands before falling on you once more. “ _Baby_ ,” Jimmy growls, “I sent you to get Mr. Santo a drink. _Where is it_? Did that little pea brain of yours forget what you had to do by the time you got over here? _Hmm_?”

Kylo seems to swell in size, releasing your hand to instead move to stand in front of you, partially blocking you from Jimmy’s view, standing toe to toe with him. You can’t see Kylo’s face, but you can feel the ire rolling off of him, like a dark, violent storm cloud. You hear him draw in a breath with which to speak, but he’s cut off by one of the men from the circle Jimmy had been schmoozing, who steps beside Jimmy and extends his hand, “Mister Ren! Long time no see, how are ya? Enjoyin’ the evenin’? Isn’t this place somethin’?” Slowly, Kylo raises a hand to take the one he has been offered, leaning in to give the man a cheek kiss, one on each side, “Hello Salvatore,” he rumbles, “Good to see you.”

Salvatore gestures to Jimmy, introducing the two, “Mister Ren, this is Jimmy DiLeo, he owns Casa Flora up on West 9th. He’s lookin’ for investors, perhaps an entrepreneur such as yourself would be interested.” Salvatore turns to Jimmy then, gesturing to Kylo, “Jimmy, this is Mr. Kylo Ren, he _owns_ most of this city, including the surrounding boroughs. He’s a very – _influential_ – gentleman, if you catch my meaning.” This has Jimmy changing his tune _incredibly_ quickly, offering his hand amicably to Kylo with an eager grin, “Nice to meet you Kylo, it’d be a pleasure to do business with you. I see you’ve already met my wife.”

“That’s _Mister Ren_ ,” Kylo grits, taking Jimmy’s hand in a grip so harsh you catch Jimmy cringing with pain, “I’d _love_ to hear more about your restaurant, _Jimmy_. Shall we?” Kylo’s voice drips with venom, but Jimmy is entirely too busy seeing dollar signs to even care. Kylo gestures towards a series of VIP tables off to the side, and the group turns to head towards them. Jimmy hangs back to grab your ear, dragging you behind the group, thinking that no one notices what he does next, “ _Stay at the bar_ ,” he hisses in your ear, but Kylo is at your side before he can get out another word, “Coming, _Jimmy_?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimmy enthusiastically nods, “Just telling my wife not to miss me too much while I’m gone, she gets lonely, ya know? Women, psh.”

But Kylo doesn’t laugh at Jimmy’s flippant joke, no. Kylo _seethes_ , “Why would she miss you if she’s coming with us?” Jimmy’s brows furrow, clearly reluctant to have you there for whatever is about to go down, but before he can formulate an excuse Kylo is placing a careful hand at the small of your back, gently guiding you towards his table. You let him lead you, casting one last glance at Jimmy before turning your eyes forward. Jimmy sidles up right beside you, dipping to hiss into your ear, “ _Don’t embarrass me_ ,” before slipping past you both to head for the table.

Once you’re all seated, Kylo to your right and Jimmy to your left, discussion begins. But Jimmy barely has to convince Kylo of anything before Kylo outright agrees to invest in his restaurant, much to Jimmy’s delighted surprise. Kylo promises him an exorbitant sum, more than enough to get him out of debt, get you _both_ out of debt, with the caveat that he and his _associates_ be allowed to conduct business at Casa Flora whenever they so needed to. Jimmy agrees without even giving it a second thought, and when Jimmy shakes his hand to seal the deal, Kylo grins like a shark.

By the end of the night, Jimmy is drunker than you can ever remember seeing him before, stumbling out to hail a cab. You know you have to follow him, he won’t wait for you, especially not in this state, but first, you turn to bid Kylo farewell. Except Kylo beats you to it, taking your hand in his and once again giving it a soft kiss, “Goodnight, angel.” You peer up at him with doe eyes, enamored and yet undoubtedly frightened. Something about Kylo and his _associates_ set off warning bells in your head, but when he looks at you like that, kisses your knuckles with those plump lips like that, well… “Goodnight, Kylo.”

But he doesn’t let you go, eyes roaming the planes of your face, “When will I see you again?” he softly asks.

You smile, you can’t help but smile at this handsome, charming, _dangerous, frightening_ man, “Soon, I’m sure.”

“Not soon enough,” he murmurs before reluctantly releasing your hand, letting you chase after Jimmy.


	2. Stay Inside the Hole, Let Me Take Control (Dominate)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the amount of love, excitement and attention this story has gotten thus far, so I wanted to start by saying thank you.
> 
> Once again, a huge thank you to AdamSnackDriver who Beta'd this baby, and thanks to her advice, resulted in me increasing the overall word count by nearly 10k.
> 
> Finally, a reminder that this is a Dead Dove, it deals with violence, abuse, worrisome behavior, and illegal actions. Our hero is not a good man, but this will never be addressed in a negative way by the reader, even though his actions are wrong. So please, consider these warnings before you continue.
> 
> That being said, dangerous Kylo hits soooo good.

Ever since that fateful night, things haven’t been the same. True to his word, Kylo _did_ give Jimmy a very large sum of money to invest in his restaurant. Jimmy, true to character, used some of it to pay off his debts… and the rest, well, you aren’t sure _what_ Jimmy did with the remaining money, but it certainly wasn’t used to get you out of the debts he’d accrued on your credit. 

Jimmy was gone more and more as well, for longer periods of time, and while you often wondered where he went off to, and why it was he sometimes came home wearing clothes you’d never seen on him before, you tried not to let it get to you. Tried to keep the loneliness, the sadness, the hopelessness at bay. One of the nights he came home after having disappeared for several days, smelling of a perfume that wasn’t yours, you flippantly mentioned how it felt like you weren’t even married, he was gone so often.

Jimmy didn’t like that.

He grabbed you by the chin, dug his fingers in real deep, and hissed in your face, “Well too fuckin’ bad sweetheart, because _you are. You’re mine._ The only way you’re leavin’ me is in a _fuckin’ body bag._ Understood?”

You didn’t bring it up again after that.

Men you’d never seen before began to visit Jimmy at your home. All of them sharply dressed and sharply eyed. They would all sit together in the dining room and talk in hushed tones, but you could still catch glimpses here and there, even from where you were, sat in your bedroom after Jimmy told you to give them privacy. Sometimes you were at work when they came over, the only telling sign being the extra coffee mugs in the sink, otherwise they barely left a trace. You weren’t even sure they used the hand soap after excusing themselves to the bathroom, that’s how little they disturbed the place.

Until one night you came home to a box of decadent Italian pastries from an expensive bakery uptown, left out on your kitchen counter with a notecard emblazoned with your name in beautiful calligraphy tucked under the twine that held the box shut.

The contents of the note were minimal:

_My Warmest Regards,  
Kylo Ren_

You wondered why the note was addressed specifically to you, when it was Jimmy he was doing business with, but one bite of a chocolate dipped cannoli had you putting the thought aside. 

The nagging feeling in the back of your head didn’t fully subside though, you wondered what the catch was to all of this, to Kylo’s money. Did Kylo truly think the restaurant was such a great investment? Did he consider Jimmy to be a good business partner? You pondered over these questions all month, all until Jimmy came home one night black and blue, scared stiff, having been roughed up by some of Kylo’s _associates_. All until Kylo called a meeting with Jimmy to discuss the unsatisfactory return his investment was proving, offering Jimmy an alternative form of repayment. All until Jimmy returned home, frightened and furious, telling you to get your shit because you were going on a trip. You thought, hoped, that perhaps he’d meant he was ending things with you, but he was quick to clarify, “That fuckin’ bastard told me the only way I was leavin’ that room with my life was if I let him take you on a week-long trip to Europe. Either that or pay him back the money he gave me. Fuckin’ asshole, he knows I don’t got the money!” He picks up and hurls a lamp at the wall, shattering it, before stalking over to you and shoving one trembling finger in your face, “You listen to me and listen good. Don’t you fuckin’ fuck him, you hear me, you slut? You better not let him fuck you. Understand? You be nice and accompany him as his plus one or whatever the fuck he said it was, to his meetings and shit, but you don’t fuck him or blow him or nothing. You fuck him and I’ll fuckin’ kill you, do you understand?”

You tremble at his words and actions, afraid that, maybe this time, he’ll finally lift a hand to you, but after he finishes spitting his venom he stalks off, leaving the house completely and slamming the door shut behind him. You release a shaky breath once you’re sure he’s gone, replaying what Jimmy had told you as you made your way to your bedroom, pulling out some embarrassingly old and out of fashion clothes to be packed in your dust-covered suitcase. A trip to Europe with Kylo Ren. Why? Why did he want to spend a week with you, the plain Jane wife of Jimmy DiLeo, when he could likely have any supermodel he so desired on his arm instead? You phone your job, informing them that a family emergency has occurred and you were going to need the week off to deal with it. You decide against telling them the truth, fearing that to be far too fantastical. None of it made sense, of all the things he could have asked for from Jimmy, why this? The question of ‘why’ doesn’t stop plaguing you, not even as a sleek black Rolls Royce pulls up out front, and its driver rings your doorbell. Not even as the driver takes your ratty suitcase and loads it into the trunk, opening the back door to the car for you and offering you a hand to help you inside. Not as you take the short drive to the airport, gazing out the window at the passing skyscrapers. And most of all, not when you are helped from the back seat of the car that has pulled up right onto the tarmac and lead into the belly of a private jet, occupied by none other than Kylo Ren himself, who stands to greet you with a smile, “Hello, angel.”

You’re speechless when you see him, he’s just as handsome as you remember him being, if not more. He’s dressed to the nine’s in perfectly pressed charcoal gray slacks, a black button down left open at the neck, and shiny black shoes. In comparison, you look like a rag, sporting faded jeans that are shredded at the knee and a pitted t-shirt, an old faux leather jacket thrown over your shoulders, your canvas sneakers ripped and stained. And yet… Kylo eyes you with a reverence that should only be reserved for viewing works of art, approaching you to grasp one of your hands in his hold, lifting it to his lips and planting a heavy kiss across your knuckles, pulling it away only just enough to speak, “It’s such a pleasure to see you again.” His eyes smolder straight into your soul, and you can’t ignore the way your face heats up and your breath stutters at the weight of his stare, “It’s good to see you too, Kylo,” you offer him a small smile which he seems to eat up if his spreading grin is any indication, “Although, I’m not quite sure why it is you wanted to see me.” You bite your lip, nervous to question him but needing answers, “Jimmy told me you want me to accompany you to Europe for a week, and that this would settle his debt with you. But… I don’t see how that makes sense.”

Kylo smiles warmly in response to your questions, “Trust me angel, this is worth every penny.”

It’s clear that you won’t be getting any _true_ answers, so you decide to let it go for now, allowing the stewardess to direct you to have a seat. In all honesty, whatever the reason, even though you know Jimmy will undoubtedly make your life hell when you return home even though you have no plans to have sex with Kylo Ren as he so fears, this trip is a welcomed respite from your broken life. Kylo spends a good portion of the flight asking you questions about yourself, things like what your favorite color is, whether or not you have a sweet tooth, what’s your favorite restaurant. Innocent things, things you wonder if Jimmy even knows about you, he’s never cared to ask. You tell him a little about your past, things you used to enjoy in your youth, like the trips you used to take to Coney Island. Your favorite ride was the Wonder Wheel, it made you feel like you were in the clouds. And of course, the temptation of a Nathan’s hot dog, you swear you can still taste the salty, greasy treat if you think about it hard enough. Kylo listens to all of it with rapt attention, always nudging you to say more, tell him more, share more.

In return, you ask Kylo a few questions of your own, all within a similar vein, but he’s a bit more tight-lipped. He tells you his favorite color is red and that he’s very fond of chocolate mousse, but he neglects to mention places he enjoys, where it is he spends his time, or how. All you know about his business is that he is quite rich, and that he “owns” most of the city, whatever that means. When you ask him about it, he waves you off kindly, “It’s boring, angel, really. I don’t want to put you to sleep with the details. Tell me more about you.” And so your flight progresses in this manner, until eight hours later you’re touching tarmac in what you come to find out is Rome, Italy. Kylo offers you a hand and leads you down the steep steps of the jet, right into the waiting backseat of a Maserati Levante. He ensures that your luggage is stowed in the trunk before joining you, and you can’t help but notice that he doesn’t seem to have a bag of his own.

“Have you ever been to Rome?” he asks, and you nod bitter-sweetly, “Yes, but it was a long time ago. Not since—,” you hesitate, “Not in a long time.” But Kylo reads between the lines, nodding, but not pressing further. He instead begins to point out different places, nice cafes and restaurants he thinks you may like, rattling off menu items that match what you’ve told him pleases you. “It’s no Nathan’s,” he smirks, “but there’s a great place by the Colosseum that makes incredible rice balls. I’ll take you.” You giggle at his joke, perky to know that he remembers the things you’ve told him, even though you’d only just shared them hours ago. After having spent years with Jimmy who still couldn’t remember that you preferred chocolate ice cream over vanilla, this was a nice change.

The Maserati comes to a stop outside of a beautiful cream-colored six-story building, it doesn’t appear to be a hotel, but the driver opens the door for you signaling that you’ve arrived, and so you step out onto the sidewalk with the help of one of Kylo’s large, warm hands. He takes your embarrassing suitcase from the driver and leads you inside with a hand pressed to the small of your back, nodding to the doorman before crowding you into a beautiful bronze elevator. He puts your suitcase down to dig a key out of his pocket, turning it in a keyhole next to the button for the sixth floor before pressing it. When the door opens with a ding, it’s onto an immaculate penthouse that leaves you gaping in the elevator. Kylo leads you out of the doors and into the living room, a large, open, windowed room comprised of white walls with pronounced molding and golden trim. The furniture is oversized and creamy, making the space seem ten times as large. 

“Let me give you a tour,” Kylo murmurs into your ear, leading you through the space with one hand still at the small of your back. He takes you past the open concept kitchen that has been decked out with top of the line appliances, through a set of French doors that house the bedroom. The white canopied bed sits in the center of the room, filled with pillows and a duvet that looks to be softer than a cloud. Across from the bed is another set of French doors, these leading out onto a balcony that spans the length of the penthouse. He puts your bag down by the bed and takes you outside, showing you the incredible view of the Coliseum. You’re speechless, frozen to the spot, mouth agape, as he points out the different wonderful places that are within view. When he’s finished, he takes you back into the bedroom, leading you to a door off to the side. He swings it open to reveal a walk-in closet that’s larger than your bathroom back home. Shit, it may be larger than your entire bedroom! One side houses what looks to be his things: suits, shoes, jackets, shirts. The other side is completely filled with women’s clothing: designer dresses, beautiful shoes, a shelf of handbags, things you couldn’t dream of affording, with the way Jimmy spends your money. But, why is all of this here? Does Kylo have a wife? You turn to look at Kylo questioningly, and it’s as if he’s read your mind, “I had my personal shopper pick up some things for you before we arrived. I know you were given very short notice for this trip, and I didn’t want you to fret if you’d forgotten something.”

If your jaw wasn’t already on the floor, it was now, “This—this is for me?” you ask, gesturing to the closet.

“Yes,” Kylo responds matter-of-factly, “I hope it’s all to your liking. I sent her some of the details you’d told me about what you like, colors and styles and such. If it isn’t, just tell me what you’d like instead, I can have her run out and pick up more things. Or I could take you out to the stores myself. Whatever you’d prefer.”

You continue to gape at him, shaking your head in disbelief, “But, all of this for just one week? That’s such a waste, you didn’t have to do this.”

This time it’s Kylo’s turn to look confused, brow furrowing as he gazes deeply into your eyes, “A week? No angel, all of this is yours to keep. Consider it a thank you gift for accompanying me on this trip, and only one of many to come, I assure you.” Your face contorts in further concern, but Kylo attempts to smooth your furrowed brow with his thumb, “Don’t worry about a thing, just focus on enjoying yourself. If your suitcase isn’t large enough to hold it all I can arrange for you to get larger suitcases, I’ll take care of it.”

But rather than dissuade your confusion, your panic, you only ratchet up with concern, “You want me to keep-- keep all of this? But, Kylo, I know these brands, I can’t—how could I—what will J—“

But Kylo simply cups your cheek, stroking a delicate thumb over your bottom lip, gently stopping your worried tirade, “Nevermind any of that. You’re mine,” he hesitantly adds, “this week. Let me take care of you.”

You nod, dumbfounded, eyes wide with surprise, and in return Kylo’s expression drips with satisfaction, thumb lingering just a little too long on your bottom lip, leaning in just a little too close to you, before he reluctantly pulls away. He takes a step back and straightens up, gesturing behind you to what must be the en-suite, “Freshen up angel, you’ve just had a long flight. When you’re ready I know a great place nearby where we can to get some coffee and a bite to eat.” And with that he leaves, heading for the living room and closing the French doors behind him, giving you privacy. 

Before you even think about getting in the shower you have to take a look at what’s sitting in the closet, so on light feet you tip toe inside. The tags hanging off the various clothes, shoes and handbags have you clutching the wall: Valentino, Versace, Prada, Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, and the list goes on. You check sizes, and are shocked to find that everything is your size, even the shoes. You hadn’t told Kylo any of that information, how did he know? Lucky guess? You shake it off and pick out a soft, flowy dress, knee length and cinched at the waist, a flattering cut, pairing it with some strappy heels that seem neither too dressy nor too uncomfortable. You peek inside some of the drawers and discover he even went so far as to purchase you undergarments, which leaves you particularly embarrassed. All of it appears to be from Cosabella, lots of satin and lace, in a variety of colors you had mentioned liking. You pull out a matching set of bra and panties, something in a pastel satin, clutching them in the hand that holds the dress you selected, and disappear into the bathroom. You hang your chosen garments on the door, admiring the view from the large bathroom window and the wide tub sat in the corner, easily big enough for two, even if one of the two were someone as large as him, and turn to the shower. You notice, with even more trepidation, that the shower has been stocked with all of your favorite products, as well as some feminine products on the higher price end. Something else you hadn’t shared with him, how could he have known? There was not a chance in hell Kylo was using women’s face wash from the local drug store, this was surely more than coincidence. 

You undress, folding your clothes and leaving them on the double sink’s wide counter, before turning on the water and stepping inside. As you let the steamy water bounce off of your skin, you wonder to yourself if all of this was as spontaneous as Kylo had initially expressed. More concerningly, you wonder what sort of price comes with all of this, from taking such beautiful, expensive clothes from him, from accompanying him on this trip. You shiver at the thought of what you’ll owe when it comes time for him to collect, and find that the tremors racking your spine are not entirely from fear.

When you emerge from the bedroom, Kylo regards you with a warm gaze, “You look stunning,” he croons, “that color really suits you.” Your face heats up at the compliment, so unused to such kind words, “It’s a beautiful dress,” you agree, “the cut is just lovely.”

“I’m not talking about the dress,” he replies, offering you his arm, “ _you_ are what makes the dress beautiful.” You bite your lip, ready to deflect his compliment once more, but he stops you before you can get the words out, “Angel,” he says warningly, but not menacingly, “take the compliment. _You are beautiful_ , and I’m a lucky man to have the privilege of having you on my arm.”

“--This week,” he adds, once again reluctantly.

The café is as Kylo described it, picture perfect, with delicious coffee and hearty sandwiches. You mention having heard that there was a difference between European and American coffee, which he confirms, asking what you prefer, now having tasted both. The waiter brings you your second cup of the stuff, you thank him with a hesitant yet kind, “Grazie,” to which the waiter smiles at your efforts, before looking back to Kylo, “I might be hooked.” He grins cheekily at you in response, “Good,” his eyes flicker warm bronze, “That was my plan.” 

“Your plan was to get me addicted to Italian coffee?” you question jokingly.

“Something like that,” he murmurs cryptically, flagging the waiter over once more to order some of the pastries he’d seen you ogling in the display case when you first arrived.

Once you’ve had your fill he takes you for a stroll, offering his arm as he leads you down cobble streets, pointing out various sights. He asks you if there is anything you have your heart set on seeing, some place you would particularly like to go, and so you mention a few things that come to mind. He listens intently, nodding along, humming in agreement at your choices.

“We have plenty of time to do all of that before we’re due in Santorini,” he assures you, patting the hand that’s curled around his bicep. 

You do a double-take, brow furrowing in confusion, “Santorini? But… isn’t that in Greece?”

“Hmm,” he hums, “It is, isn’t it,” he turns to catch your eyes, smile smug, “I did say this was a European trip, not an Italian trip, didn’t I?”

A warning bell goes off somewhere far in the back of your mind, but you’re too charmed by that handsome smile, by the excitement of it all, to listen.

He takes you to the Vatican City, shakes a hand and kisses a cheek that has you circumventing the very long line of people waiting to get inside. You stroll slowly through the Apostolic Palace, his hand never leaving the small of your back, keeping you close as he gestures to different works of art, asking what you think of them. He listens intently when you share your feelings, nods like everything you say is brilliant, and tells you so. “Interesting,” he murmurs, when you point out something that catches your eye, “I never noticed that before. You’re very observant,” he praises. You shake your head shyly, deflecting the compliment, “I’m blind as a bat,” you regurgitate the insult Jimmy had hurled at you many times before, “just got lucky that time.” But Kylo isn’t having that, his brow furrowing as he takes your chin in his hands and tilts your head up to face him, “No, you obviously have a keen eye,” his brow softens, “and a very beautiful one at that.” You feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment, a small smile curling on your lips. Kylo’s honey eyes melt at the sight, his other hand trailing light fingertips down your arm, grasping your hand, and pulling it up to his mouth to place a soft kiss on your knuckles, “Tell me more,” he murmurs into your soft skin, “I want to know what else those beautiful eyes see.” Releasing you and stepping back to your side with expectant eyes, eager to hear what else you have to say, his hand finding the small of your back once more as he gives you space to view the room. He acts as if anything you have to say about this incredible place means something, as if your opinions are worth hearing. When was the last time that was true? You can’t remember, so instead you push down the dreadful thought that the man you’re going home to after this trip still won’t give a shit about what you have to say. But it doesn’t matter, not right now, not when _he_ does.

“Are you familiar with the story behind these paintings?” Kylo asks, gesturing high up on the walls. He doesn’t ask maliciously, there’s no undercurrent of mockery, so you shake your head earnestly. He looks away, to the paintings, and explains, “These were done by Michelangelo, and are meant to depict nine scenes from the book of Genesis. See there?” he points to two men reaching out towards eachother, “That’s God creating Adam, the first man.” You nod, entranced as he goes on to explain every scene laid out before you both. He speaks quietly, but with confidence, clearly educated on the subject, but without any air of pompousness. He isn’t talking down to you when he explains, merely shares what he knows. 

“That’s really impressive,” you remark. 

“It is,” he agrees, “Michelangelo was incredibly talented. His knowledge of human anatomy was extremely extensive for the time.” But you shake your head with a smile, causing his brows to furrow, “I was talking about you.” 

Kylo blushes, averting his eyes as he mumbles, “It’s nothing. I like art history, that’s all.” But you aren’t having it, giving his arm a squeeze, prompting him to meet your eyes, “It’s impressive,” you say with emphasis, “I’d love to hear more.”

Kylo spends the rest of the afternoon sharing everything he knows. When he’s finished, you feel like you might be an art history buff now too.

That night, he takes you to the Trevi Fountain. “That’s Oceanus,” he explains, gesturing to the marble statue of the large man in the center of the fountain, “in Greek mythology he’s the titan god of the river Oceanos.” You nod, taking in the beauty of the statue, swallowing nervously before working up the courage to ask a question, “Why is there a statue of a Greek god in Italy though?” You brace yourself for mockery at your stupidity, but it never comes. Kylo’s tone is gentle as he explains, “Roman mythology was based off of Greek mythology. So really, if you asked a Roman who that was a statue of, they would likely tell you Neptune, since that is the Roman god equivalent.” He fishes a Euro coin out of his pocket as you mull over his words, lifting your right hand and placing it in your palm, “Turn around, and toss this over your left shoulder,” he instructs, “and when you do, make a wish.” You do as you’re told, squeezing your eyes shut before tossing the coin, wishing with all your might that this kind man were the one you’d met that night at Casa Flora, all those years ago. When you open your eyes, he’s smiling at you, offering his arm, but you hesitate, gesturing towards the fountain, “Aren’t you going to make a wish too?” But he shakes his head, small smile secretive and golden eyes bright when he speaks, “Mine already came true.” 

He takes you to the Colosseum, talks about Rome’s bloody history, about the terrible acts that took place on these grounds. “Do you know what they used to use as tickets, back then?” he asks, and there’s no hesitation when you shake your head ‘no.’ “Pottery shards,” he answers with a cheeky smile, “Numbered pottery shards.” The fact makes you giggle in surprise, and Kylo looks absolutely delighted at your reaction, nodding in agreement, “Interesting, isn’t it? So much changes, and yet so much stays the same.” You walk the length of the Colosseum floor together, his hand at the small of your back, chatting about the different kinds of events that were held here over the years. “These passageways,” he gestures, “Are called ‘vomitoria,’ the idea being crowds could disperse quickly through them.” He looks to you expectantly, as the words sink in, your brow furrowing in thought, “Vomitoria? That sounds a lot like…” his eyes go wide with excitement as you put the pieces together, “that sounds like _vomit_.” He grins when you finish, “Precisely, my brilliant angel. That’s where the English word ‘vomit’ comes from. A quick expulsion, so to speak.” You crinkle your face in disgust, “Great, I _definitely_ needed to know _that_ fact.” He chuckles at your reaction, “Didn’t you? It’s what you might call a _fun_ fact.” You crook an eyebrow at him and smirk playfully, “If that’s your definition of fun I’d hate to see what else it entails.” He grins at your banter, pulling you just a little closer to him as he leans down to speak closer to your ear, “I promise angel, you’ll enjoy my brand of _fun_.” You believe him.

He takes you for gelato, from a place that he swears is the best. The shop is small, unassuming, not what you would imagine might hold the best gelato, but you trust him. He greets the older man who stands behind the counter with a handshake and a kiss to the cheek. He seems genuinely happy to see Kylo, pointing out some new flavors he’s created, urging Kylo to taste them. Kylo takes the offered tasting spoon between thick fingertips, giving it a thoughtful lick before offering it to you, holding it out right to your lips. You lick the offered treat, meeting Kylo’s eyes as you let the flavor roll around on your tongue. He’s watching you closely, _very_ closely, lips crooking up in a smile when you swallow and nod enthusiastically at the taste. The next little tasting spoon he’s offered, he lets you lick first, finishing off what you leave behind. Once more he watches you closely as you sample the flavor, golden gaze dipping from your eyes to your lips, leaving you to wonder how eating something so cold can leave you feeling so hot. When you both finally decide on what flavors you want, taking your cups and bidding the man farewell, you bite your lip and shyly ask for another taste of what he picked. Kylo’s eyes are heavily lidded when he stops and looks at you, nodding once as he fills his spoon. You let your mouth fall open and he places his spoon inside, closing your lips around the creamy treat, licking the spoon clean. His lips are pressed tightly together as he watches you, the muscles in his jaw clenching when he pulls his spoon away, placing it in his mouth even though there isn’t a drop of gelato left on it.

Every night he sleeps on the couch, doesn’t so much as suggest sharing the bed with you. His hands never wander too far, usually confined to rest at the small of your back or to take your hand. His touches are light, careful, like he’s afraid he might break you if he presses or grips too hard. He kisses your knuckles, kisses them often, but never anything or anywhere else. All of it leaves you equal parts relieved and disappointed, much to your confusion. You’re a married woman, you promised Jimmy you would behave yourself, and so far, four days in to this seven day trip, everything Kylo has done has been appropriate. 

Well… unless you count the incredible amount of money he has spent buying you whatever your eyes linger on, or on the tabs for the various restaurants and cafes he has taken you to. Or worse, perhaps worse than if he would just kiss you, is the way he looks at you. Honey eyes that burrow right into your soul, regarding you with a warmth and admiration you’ve never felt from anyone before. He compliments you when you offer up some simple Italian, or when you share a fact or piece of history you know. He chuckles at your jokes, and smiles with a genuine fondness when he can tell that you’re enjoying yourself. The way he looks at you is more intimate than any of the sex you’ve ever had in your life, and that—

That leaves you bereft.

Day five finds you landing in Santorini, on a day as clear and as blue as could be hoped for. Just as Kylo had assured you that first day, all of your new things were packed away for you into brand new suitcases that were all loaded on to the private jet without you ever having to so much as lift a finger. Even your ratty little bag was transported with care, left waiting for you alongside the others in this penthouse’s bedroom. Unlike the one in Rome, this penthouse is done up in white and a rich, cerulean blue, a lovely echo of the ocean that awaits outside. You gaze at the water from your spot on the balcony and fight the urge to run outside and jump right in. Kylo comes up behind you, hand taking its usual place on the small of your back, and you smile at the contact.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” you ask, staring out at the lovely blue, tan, white-roofed homes, the bustling little streets, the sparkling water.

“Gorgeous,” Kylo agrees, but when you turn to smile at him, his warm honey eyes are already on you. You bite your lip and fight down the feeling that swells deep in your chest, reminding yourself once more that you’re a married woman, you’re just his date for the week, just his plus one to some meetings, nothing more, nothing more.

You walk together through town, passing small shops and bustling marketplaces. Until now, every meal you’ve shared has been had at a restaurant, even though both penthouses had full kitchens. You get an idea, as you spy the various fresh foods that are laid out for sale, “Can I cook for us tonight?” you ask, turning to face Kylo, who shakes his head in confusion, “You don’t have to cook, this is meant to be relaxing.” But you insist, eyeing some lamb chops and fresh rosemary that remind you of a recipe your grandmother showed you years ago, “But I want to,” you plead with big eyes, “I want to show my appreciation for all of this.” Kylo looks skeptical, to say the least, but your puppy eyes do their trick and he relents with a sigh, “Fine, but if you change your mind, just say the word. I could even have a chef prepare something for us at my place if you wanted to stay in.” You shake your head triumphantly though, taking his hand and leading him towards the stalls, “I won’t.”

It’s late afternoon when you begin preparing everything. Kylo sits at the kitchen’s island and watches, even though you urged him to relax on the couch or out on the balcony, but he insists on staying close by, “In case you need my help,” he offers, “or if you change your mind.” You set to work getting the lamb into a pan, chopping garlic and drizzling olive oil, surrounding it with rosemary, popping it in the oven. You chop tomatoes and onions, filling a bowl and seasoning them with fresh herbs and more olive oil. You slice white eggplant and zucchini, laying them out on a baking tray, seasoning them lightly before sliding them into the oven as well. By the time you are done with the preparations and everything is simply baking, the sun has already set. Kylo offers you a glass of wine from his perch at the kitchen island that he has not left all this time, not even to take a phone call. You had made light conversation with him as you worked, but he was quiet tonight, even for Kylo. It wasn’t until the food was plated and the table set that you came to learn why.

He stares at his plate, at the extra food sat in the center of the table, and then turns to you, looking absolutely speechless. You lift your glass and offer a toast, to which he concurs, but he doesn’t take a sip, merely sets the glass down in a daze. “Is everything alright?” you ask concerned, “Does it—does it not look good? I can—“ But this breaks him from his daze, turning to you sharply, “ _No_ ,” he cuts you off, before softening his tone, “No, it’s—,” he hesitates, eyes lingering on his piled plate, “I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me, like this.” He mumbles, “Maybe no one ever did.”

Your brow furrows at his forlorn tone, and you lean in to place your hand over his own. He looks from your joined hands, to your face, eyes full of pain as he continues, “My mom was always busy, she didn’t have the time or energy to cook. And my dad,” he trails off for a moment, expression closing off, “My dad was my dad when it suited him.”

Your heart breaks at his words, you squeeze his hand in consolation, “I’m sorry to hear that,” you offer, but he merely shakes his head, shakes the memories away, “It’s fine,” he rasps with finality, letting his eyes fall back to his plate.

“Let’s eat,” you offer lightly, and Kylo nods in agreement, lifting his fork and spearing a bite. As he swallows it down he turns to face you with bright eyes, “This is delicious,” he chirps, quickly taking another bite. “Wow,” he exclaims around a mouthful, “You’re an amazing cook!” 

Your face goes hot at the compliment, a vague memory of the last time Jimmy ate your cooking, on one of the few nights he was home for it, nags at the back of your mind. A memory of hurled insults about overcooked meat and undercooked vegetables, but you push those away, smiling shyly instead, “It’s nothing, just an old recipe my grandma had shown me.” But Kylo won’t be dissuaded, insisting around another mouthful, “No, this is incredible,” he swallows, “I’ve had meals from Michelin five star chefs that didn’t taste half as good as this.” You duck your head, grinning shyly at his conviction, but he won’t be dissuaded, crooking a finger under your chin to lift your gaze to him, “Thank you,” he says earnestly. 

Your stomach does a summersault in response.

On the last afternoon of your trip, he takes you out on a small sail boat in the crescent of the coast, just far enough out to give you privacy, the captain of the boat it’s only other occupant aside from the two of you. Kylo had greeted the captain as if he knew him, and perhaps he did, you were under the impression Kylo knew a lot of the people in these places he’d taken you to. The water is calm, the boat rocking gently, you and Kylo are sat comfortably on a loveseat couch set in the bow. He pulls out a bottle of veuve clicquot and pops it open, pouring you each a glass. You chatter about the trip, he’s very curious to know what you liked, to get your thoughts on the experience. He listens carefully as you mention your highlights, how much you liked the Sistine Chapel’s paintings, how creamy the gelato was, how delicious the espresso was. He nods, agrees, especially when you lament over how quickly the week seemed to pass. He looks practically morose at the mention.

You idly mention the fact that he didn’t seem to attend a single meeting while you were both here, “Was the trip a success for you?” you ask casually. He smiles at you before his eyes wander back towards the island, “Incredibly so,” he answers cryptically. You sip on your delicious bubbly while you mull over how that could be possible when you didn’t see him conduct a minute’s worth of business, when suddenly the sun begins to descend, and you’re treated to what must be the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen. Your breath hitches, a hand coming up to lay over your heart, breath taken by the sight. Shades of orange, peach, red, yellow dance across the white facades, illuminating everything in a firey glow. 

“Kylo!” you gasp, turning to look at him in surprised wonder for only a moment before your eyes are pulled back to the view, entranced by the sight. When the sun has finally set, the last rays of firey light eaten up by the night, you turn to face Kylo once more. His expression is as warm as the hues of the sunset you just admired, raven hair now wreathed in starlit night, and maybe it’s the champagne, or the gentle rocking of the boat, maybe it’s the beauty of the sunset, or the warmth in his eyes, maybe it’s the swelling in your chest as you reflect on what an amazing week this has been, undiluted happiness, carefree enjoyment, maybe it’s the way he tilts his brutally handsome face closer to you, or the way his honey eyes dart to trace the contours of your lips, but whatever the reason, you lean in and kiss him. It’s soft, warm, and full of joy, eager lips pressing firmly into his plush pink ones, seeking out the gentle slide of pliant skin. The ghost of his touch skates between your shoulder blades, up the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that rattles you back into reality. You pull away with a gasp, eyes wide as apologies spill unbidden from your lips, but Kylo merely shakes his head, taking your chin between his fingers and pulling you in for another toe-curling kiss. You let yourself melt into him, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his warm, wet mouth gently massaging yours, the hand that had been holding your chin drifting to curl around the side of your neck, tilting your head ever so slightly to give him better access. His tongue peeks out to trace the seam of your lips, asking for entrance into the hot channel of your mouth, but all of this is so overwhelming, you shouldn’t be doing this, you’re married, this is wrong, you’re acting like a slut, just like Jimmy said you were, you have to stop, you—

Kylo pulls away, running his thumb over your cheekbone in soothing strokes, “Shhh,” he hushes gently, “It’s alright.”

He tugs a handkerchief free from his pocket and carefully dabs at your eyes, expression unreadable aside from the way his brow furrows as he concentrates, “Don’t cry, angel, everything is fine,” he coos. When he tucks the handkerchief back into his pocket you notice it’s now stained with black mascara, and only then do you realize there are tears drying in the corners of your eyes. He folds you into his side, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders to hold you close, and plants soft kisses to the top of your head as your breathing evens out.

The flight home is much quieter than it had been coming here, you spend most of it looking out the window in worried silence. You wonder what Kylo must think of you: a cheater, a whore, a slut; but every time you meet his eyes, that undeniable warmth lingers, and you question his motives behind this trip once more. Worst of all, that warm gaze does nothing to raise your spirits today, there is a lead weight sitting in your chest, bearing a name you hadn’t wanted to think about all week, and not even Kylo can save you from it.

As the Rolls pulls up in front of your house, the driver bringing your bags to the door, Kylo lays one last, lingering kiss across your knuckles, “Thank you for accompanying me,” he murmurs. But any words, any joy you may have had is gone, left back in Santorini on the sail boat’s loveseat couch, so you nod and attempt to smile one last time for him. He doesn’t let you go at first, not when the driver opens your door for you, not when the driver is offering his hand to help you step out of the car. He holds tightly, leveling you with a look that drips of dread, anger and sadness, stealing your breath from your lungs. Reluctantly he releases you, but not before he rasps, “I’ll see you soon, angel.” 

Except it doesn’t feel like a farewell, it feels like a promise.

Jimmy doesn’t come home that night, much to your relief. You sleep in one of the sets of silky pajamas Kylo had gotten for you, and you dream about rolling blue oceans and honey eyes.

The next night, Jimmy _does_ come home, but he’s black and blue, one eye swollen shut, and he curses your name. Tells you it’s _your_ fault he’s all lumped up, _you_ did something wrong, and that’s why Mister Ren sent his associates after him. Paid him a visit at his own restaurant and beat the spit out of him, because even though he sent you off to Europe with Mister Ren, Jimmy still owed him money, and Mister Ren wanted his loan repaid. Whatever isn’t nailed down gets hauled through the air, you’re screamed at and cursed long after locking yourself in the bathroom. You sleep in the tub that night.

Jimmy finds all of the nice things Kylo bought you, and by the end of the week all of it is gone. Sold, maybe, or perhaps given to whoever it is leaves those hickies all over Jimmy’s neck.

You cry, but did you ever really deserve any of it to begin with?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all on Wednesday, December 16th 2020 with Chapter 3!


	3. You Were Nothing More, You Were Something Less (Innocent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all so very much for the positive feedback! I'm glad you all enjoyed your Roman and Grecian holiday, isn't Kylo just the best?
> 
> This chapter is going to be an eye-opening one, although not nearly eye-opening enough.
> 
> But, how does the saying go? "Love is blind?"
> 
> Remember, as always, to please heed the warnings and tags. <3

The following week, Jimmy informs you he’s being sent on an _errand_ for Mister Ren. This errand is taking him a few states over, so he’ll be gone for a few days. “Don’t fuck anybody while I’m gone, you stupid slut, you hear me?” is the goodbye Jimmy imparts upon you as he leaves, hopping in to the back seat of a black Cadillac El Dorado that’s filled with three other men.

Not even an hour later, someone rings your doorbell, and you’re shocked to find Kylo standing on your doorstep.

“Hello, angel,” he smiles, “I thought I might tempt you to spend the day with me.”

The happiness, the joy, the _relief_ you feel at seeing him cannot be hidden, it stretches plain as day across your face, and his eyes warm at the sight of it. You bite your lip, shyly agreeing, excusing yourself for a moment just to freshen up and grab your bag. Kylo nods, urging you to take your time, before letting himself inside, much to your embarrassment. The place is a war zone, even after you cleaned up the shards of last week’s casualties, but Kylo doesn’t remark, merely stands in your living room with his hands in his pockets, smiling amicably at you before you disappear into your bedroom. 

When you’re ready to go, Kylo casually asks if the clothes he’d gotten you were no longer to your liking, surely noticing you were once again in something torn and pitted with age. 

You don’t know how to answer him.

He doesn’t ask again.

Your jaw drops when you see where it is he has taken you, bounding out of the car before the driver can even get your door. Seagulls screech overhead, the smell of fresh popcorn floats on the salty sea breeze, and when you turn to Kylo, who has taken his customary spot beside you with his hand on the small of your back, your smile is even bigger than Tillie’s, the grinning mascot of this favored place.

_Coney Island._

Your first stop is Nathan’s for those perfectly salty, greasy hot dogs. Kylo treats, of course, two hot dogs for you, three for him, and a shared order of fries. It’s almost comical, seeing Kylo chowing down like this, hunched over a high top bar table out on the sidewalk, all while dressed in a designer suit, looking like he just got out of a business meeting. He catches you watching him with curious eyes, and you smile warmly in response. In return he feeds you a French fry, and carefully swipes away the drop of ketchup that sticks to the corner of your mouth. 

Next he takes you for ice cream, coming back with two cones, chocolate for you, vanilla for him. You enjoy them as you make your way down the boardwalk together, your free hand tucked into the crook of his arm.

With the cones all but devoured, his next stop is to a ticket booth, stationed just inside Luna Park, the name, “Deno’s Wonder Wheel,” emblazoned across the top. He purchases two tickets before leading you through the tunnel that pops you out at the loading bay for the wheel. He greets the ride operator with a handshake and two cheek kisses before he helps you inside, nodding once more to the operator before climbing in after you. He squeezes in beside you on the tight bench rather than sitting across, wrapping one protective arm around your shoulders. The wheel takes you up, up, up, right into the clouds, giving you a beautiful view of Brooklyn on one side, and the ocean on the other. You snuggle in to Kylo’s embrace, resting your head on his shoulder as you peer out into the distance. You seem to stay up there forever, much longer than you ever remember being there in the past, but sitting here like this? With _him_? It still wasn’t long enough. When the wheel brings you back down for the final time, you sigh, and Kylo presses a soft kiss to the top of your head in consolation.

When Kylo brings you home that night, the sun has already set. He walks you to your door, kisses your knuckles, and says he’ll see you soon.

This time you hope it’s a promise.

Two weeks later, Jimmy is sent on another errand.

This one will only take him two days at most, but he’s nervous when he tells you about it. He never told you what the last errand entailed, and you didn’t ask. All you know is that he came home in an outfit you didn’t know he owned, and that the clothes he’d gone in weren’t with him. More often than not he seems to come home roughed up, although he doesn’t talk much about why anymore. This time when he gets ready to be picked up for his errand, he dresses in an ill-fitting suit, something he must have picked up on clearance, or at the Good Will. He’d had nice suits, but they seemed to be gone now, right along with the clothes Kylo had given you.

That night, long after Jimmy has been picked up for his errand, the doorbell is rung. You answer it, greeting a sharply dressed man with greasy slicked back hair who hands you a long, rectangular, nicely wrapped box. You tell him you hadn’t ordered anything, but he assures you it’s a gift, and leaves without another word.

You bring it inside and carefully open it, revealing a gorgeous burgundy gown, champagne gold strappy heels nestled beside it, and a notecard laid on top.

_My Beautiful Angel,  
Please do me the honor of gracing me with your company for dinner tonight.  
I will be there at 8:30pm.  
Yours,  
Kylo_

Your eyes dart quickly to the clock on the wall, it’s just a little past 7:30pm, giving you plenty of time to get ready. You dash for the bathroom, suddenly giddy with excitement, showering, primping, pampering, until you’re all dolled up for him. The gown fits like a dream, and the shoes slip on comfortably, the true mark of expense. You debate bringing a purse at all, looking at the old, tattered thing you use these days, sorely wishing you would’ve hidden the ones Kylo had gotten for you just a little better, maybe buried them in the backyard where Jimmy would never think to look. You’re still fretting over your purse when the doorbell rings, but this time it’s Kylo who stands on the other side, “Good evening, angel,” dripping from his lips as he takes your hand and steps inside. As always, he plants a warm kiss across your knuckles that has your cheeks heating up, only worsened when he holds your arm out to get a look at you. “Gorgeous,” he praises, “absolutely perfect. Red looks good on you, angel.” 

You bite your lip and thank him shyly, returning the compliment, “You look handsome as always, Kylo. I like your tie.” You grasp it between delicate fingers, feeling the buttery satin slip between your fingertips. It’s the same shade and fabric as your gown, standing out stark against his otherwise entirely black ensemble, save for the champagne gold cufflinks that glitter at his wrists, and the champagne gold watch that sits heavy on his hand.

“Thank you, angel. Are you ready to go?” he quickly changes the topic, not wanting to dwell on your compliment, it seems. “Yes, let me just…” you trail off, looking to the small pile of belongs that sit surrounding your beaten up bag. Kylo follows your eyes, immediately assessing the situation, “Go ahead,” Kylo entreats, nodding towards the bag, “Get your things, we’ll make a quick stop on our way over.”

Your eyes go wide, pleading, “No, no it’s fine, really, I’ll just—I don’t need to bring a purse, I’ll put what I need in my pockets—“

But Kylo levels you with a stern look that garners no brokering. His tone is firm yet gentle, “Get your things, angel. I insist.”

You peel away from him to quickly toss your belongings into your bag, shouldering it before rejoining Kylo at your front door. He smiles at you approvingly, leading you out and to the Rolls with a hand at the small of your back.

True to his word, the Rolls makes a pit stop at the Prada on Madison, Kylo leading you inside to much fanfare. The store clerks seem to know him, greeting him by name and shaking his hand, and he introduces you smoothly to all of them, and you, of course, greet them all in turn. Kylo is quick to convey the purpose for your visit, and one of the clerks disappears into the back room after receiving her orders. She emerges with a beautiful champagne gold clutch that matches your heels perfectly, and has you gasping at its beauty. Kylo doesn’t even ask the price, just hands them a black credit card which they swipe and return to him. You wish pleasant nights to the clerks who beam and wave, letting Kylo lead you back out to the car. As you continue your route to the restaurant you carefully pile your necessities into the new clutch. Not everything fits but not everything is necessary either, so all in all it works out. You run delicate fingers over the shimmering satin as it glints in the shine of the street lights, admiring it thoroughly.

Kylo also spends the ride admiring something thoroughly, but it is not the Prada clutch.

You pull up in front of a swanky restaurant, _Del Posto_ , the façade reads, and are helped out of the car by the valet. Kylo joins you, taking your arm as he leads you inside, greeting everyone he passes with familiarity. The hostess leads you through thick red velvet curtains to the back half of the restaurant, a section entirely separated from the rest of the seating, where almost every table is already filled. Left and right people stop and greet Kylo, some getting up to shake his hand, kiss his cheek, some getting a pat on the shoulder from him as he passes them, and you wonder how he could possibly know so many people. A few ask after you, and he doesn’t hesitate to introduce you to them, proudly presenting you on his arm with a fond note to his voice. Although you can’t help but notice that he only uses your first name when he does.

After many greetings you are finally escorted to your table, set all the way in the back of the room, right in the center. It is a large booth, round table semi circled by a thick, plush leather bench, you and Kylo take up seats in the middle of it, right beside eachother. From here, you look out at the entire room, everyone is visible, as are the doors. Waiters immediately flock to take orders, Kylo smoothly relaying his wine selections for the evening as they pour glasses of ice water and place freshly wiped dishes in front of you both. You place your linen napkin across your lap just as you’re handed a thick leather menu by one of the waiters, who rattles off the night’s specials in a thick Italian accent. Kylo dismisses him, turning to you instead, giving you his full attention as he suggests some of the dishes he thinks you may like, “But of course,” he adds smoothly, “Choose whatever you’d like.”

When the waiter returns with a bottle of red that you’ve seen Kylo drink before, and a bottle of something Kylo has seen you drink before, he asks for your selections as he pours. Kylo rattles off a few antipastis and two different pasta dishes, before turning to you, asking you to tell the waiter what you’d like. You give him your order with a smile, but Kylo is quick to ask, “Is that all, angel?” You nod, he’d already ordered several dishes for you both to share, how much more could you possibly want? But Kylo seems unsatisfied, ordering two more main courses that he’d heard you mulling over before telling the waiter his own. You gape at Kylo as the waiter leaves, who shakes his head at you in a mockery of admonishment, “Don’t ever lie to me angel, you can have whatever you want.” You gape at him, “But it wasn’t a lie,” you sputter, “There’s no way I could eat _three_ main courses, it’ll go to waste!”

“Nothing is wasted on you,” he replies sternly, voice thick with emotion as honey eyes burrow deep into your soul. Something clenches tight in your chest, making it difficult to swallow your wine after he hands you your glass, clinking it with his own.

The pastas have been brought to the table when you receive a visitor, one candy-shaped pasta purse filled with blue cheese, red wine and poached pear popped in your mouth when the visitor slides onto Kylo’s side of the black leather bench and apologizes for interrupting. Kylo’s expression is neutral, but he has stopped moving, regarding the visitor with veiled annoyance. “Mister Ren,” the visitor greets, “I hate to bother ya, but is there any way I could talk to ya for a moment?” His nervous eyes flit to you before flitting back to Kylo’s, “ _Alone_?”

You turn to look at Kylo, ready to excuse yourself, but he stops you with one large palm placed down on the back of your hand. A wordless command, _you’re not going anywhere_ , which you obey without question. The muscle under Kylo’s left eye twitches when he speaks, “She can hear whatever you have to say—Dominic, is it?” But Dominic looks nervous, shaking his head, “I’m sorry Mister Ren, but—what I gotta say—I think it would be best if—“ 

“OUT WITH IT!” Kylo shouts, causing both you and Dominic to jump. 

“S-She’s a whore, Mister Ren! Th-that’s Jimmy DiLeo’s wife!” Dominic stutters, pointing at you with one shaking accusatory finger.

The entire restaurant has gone quiet, and although people aren’t actively gawking, you know they’re all listening. You wonder how many people in this room know who you are, who you’re married to, and if they were all thinking the same thing. You pull in a shaky breath, ready to crawl under the table and cry, but then—

Kylo moves like lightning, the table screeching as it’s shoved by the force with which Kylo stands. He releases your hand and instead hauls back to slug Dominic right across the jaw, knocking him sprawling across the table. But Kylo isn’t done, he pins Dominic on his back to the table, wrapping both hands around his throat and squeezing, squeezing so tight Dominic’s face has gone from red to purple in a matter of seconds, weak hands feebly clawing at Kylo’s grip. Kylo is silent fury, eyes burning with anger, brow drawn in malice, mouth curled in disgust, he doesn’t say a word, just chokes the life out of this man for—for what? For telling the truth?

A sob bursts out of your chest, drawing flaming golden eyes in your direction. All at once Kylo releases his grip on Dominic, the man slumping to the floor, possibly dead, but entirely forgotten as Kylo sidles up to you, “Angel,” he coos, hand delicately cradling the side of your face, one large thumb gently swiping away tears, “Did I frighten you?” 

You shake your head no, because in truth, he didn’t. No, what Kylo just did… the power he exhibited, the fury, the strength, no one moved to stop him, not even the wait-staff, and still, no one moves to intervene, to ask him to leave, to phone the police. What Kylo just did, what you are beginning to suspect Kylo _is_ … it doesn’t frighten you. And perhaps that should be frightening in and of itself.

Kylo’s shoulders seem to sag in relief at that, and in response he lets his other hand curl around the other side of your face, pulling you closer. “Then what’s wrong, angel?” he purrs, looking deeply into your eyes, searching for the answer to your pain. 

But you can’t tell him what the matter is, because the truth of it effects you both. What upsets you is that Dominic was right: you’re a whore. No amount of lavish excursions, Prada bags or designer dresses can change the fact that you are married to Jimmy DiLeo. So if Kylo _does_ want to be with you, as it seems he does, unless he wants to be with a corpse, that fact would not be changing any time soon.

You’re upset because you’ve grown terribly fond of Kylo Ren, but all you’ve managed to give him in return is a tarnished reputation. Another man’s wife on his arm. 

Your eyes shift to Dominic as his words ring between your ears, and it’s as if Kylo can hear your thoughts with the words he spits out next, “ _No_ ,” he rumbles, “He doesn’t know _what the **fuck**_ he’s talkin’ about,” the suave smoothness of his voice giving way to a choppy accent in his fury. Your lower lip quivers as you try to answer him, try to tell him Dominic is right, but Kylo presses his lips together firmly and shakes his head, regaining a bit of his composure when he speaks again, “You’re an angel, _my_ angel, and I’ll _kill_ anyone who says otherwise.”

Dominic is dragged off by some burly men in suits, the table is re-set by the wait staff, and the meal is resumed. Kylo’s hand rests heavily on your thigh for the entirety of dinner, protectively, his large mitt easily spanning the width of it. The comfort the gesture brings isn’t lost on you, but the damage has been done.

During the car ride home, the Rolls passes Rockefeller Center, which is hustling and bustling even at this time of night. “I always wanted to go ice skating there,” you remark casually, “it looks so nice.” Kylo glances from the window to you, regarding you with a smile, “I’ve always been fond of the architecture, myself. Art Deco has so much character.” You smile back, lifting an eyebrow, “A fan of art history _and_ architecture?” 

He bites back a grin in response, “When I was younger, I thought about becoming an architect. I was very fond of drawing.”

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, genuinely curious.

His expression falls, ices over, he turns to gaze out the window instead, “The _family_ had other plans.”

He doesn’t elaborate further, and you don’t ask him to. You already know what it means.

And honestly, the truth doesn't scare you nearly as much as it should.


	4. Something Has to Give, Something Has to Break (Omnipresent)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get spicy! In more ways than one haha I hope you are ready >:)
> 
> As always, thank you for your kind comments, I read every single one and they never fail to make me smile.
> 
> And one final reminder that this is a Dark Fic, this is a Dead Dove, please be mindful of what you are engaging with.
> 
> PS - Have any of you caught on to where the chapter titles are from? I didn't make them up, they are from something. Let's see who else was an angry teen haha

Jimmy is sent on errands with increasing frequency, sometimes two in a week. Sometimes Jimmy talks about how he spent all night at the restaurant preparing for a very large gathering Kylo had ordered to be held at Casa Flora, requesting things that took time and effort to procure and prepare. It’s at these times, the days he spends on errands, the nights he spends at Casa Flora, that more packages arrive at your door, more designer dresses, more designer shoes, and almost always followed closely behind by the giver of these gifts. Kylo takes you places you’ve never been to, restaurants you’ve never heard of, stores you’ve never set foot in. Treats you to whatever you want, and you learn to tell him what it is you want, you learned that lesson at Del Posto, it was not a lesson that bared repeating. He takes you to places you’d mentioned, all those weeks ago on your flight to Rome, places you’d reflected on with fond memories, because they were places you hadn’t been to in years, not since meeting Jimmy. And he remembered, he seems to remember everything you tell him, really listens when you do, even seems to know things you don’t tell him, like your favorite TV shows and movies, and how you take your coffee. Maybe he’s a mind-reader, or just really good at figuring you out, but whatever the case, every gesture, every gift, every excursion, has you falling just a little bit more in love with Kylo Ren. Not because of the money he spends to make it happen, of course not, but because he genuinely seems to _care_. And when was the last time anyone did that?

He takes you to Rockefeller Center, one sunny afternoon. Shakes a hand and kisses a cheek that has you skipping the very long line of people waiting for a chance to get on the rink. You step onto the ice with shaky legs, it’s been so long, goodness knows if you even remember how to do this. But Kylo is right at your side, clutching you close, steadying you, until you’re able to stand and glide confidently. He skates like a professional, forwards, backwards, skates circles around you with practiced ease. “How are you so good at this?” you accusingly question between fits of giggles as he skates another backwards circle around you, hands behind his back, wearing the biggest smirk. “I played ice hockey in high school,” he explains, taking both of your hands and pulling you along as he skates backwards, “until--,” but he trails off, looking over his shoulder instead. 

“Until what?” you press gently, clutching his hands a little tighter, goading him to face you once more. “Until my mother got arrested, and the family told me to drop out,” he finishes, expression steely. Your eyes go wide, “What?” flies out of your mouth unbidden, but Kylo shakes his head, “It’s in the past.”

“No,” you urge, upset over this news, upset at the sight of the mask that seems to have slipped over his face at the recollection, “why would they—I don’t understand how--”

“I had to take over,” he replies cryptically, eyes darting around him, “I was her only child. And dad certainly didn’t want to be involved, he’d made that clear.”

“Take over what?” you goad, finding yourself more and more confused at his confessions.

“The family business,” he responds with a note of finality, you know you won’t be getting any more out of him, not here, not now. He releases your hands, lets himself drift behind you, and places his big, warm hands on your hips, guiding you forward. You let this new information settle in your mind, turning it over, looking for more answers. Kylo leans in close, lips inches from your ear, whispering cryptically, “None of it matters anymore, angel.” Thick fingers squeezing your pliant flesh with emphasis, before he spins you around, catching you once more so that you’re facing him. The shock of it has you laughing uncontrollably, which gets Kylo grinning big and wide, eyes crinkled with mirth, “You have the most beautiful laugh.” He leans in a little closer, tilts his head ever so slightly, your laughter beginning to subside as you wonder if maybe—his eyes dart to your lips, pink tongue darting out to wet them, but then—he spins you around once more, planting firm hands on your hips, and whispers in your ear, “Come on, let me take you to dinner,” as he leads you towards the rink’s exit.

One day you ask him if you can plan that day’s activities, to which he quickly consents. You take him to Central Park, a basket of homemade lunch tucked under one arm, a blanket tucked under the other. You scope out a nice spot by the pond, under the shade of a beautiful willow, and set up camp. Kylo helps, pleads with you to let him do it all, but you’re stubborn, “This is a team effort,” you proclaim, to which Kylo relents with a small smile. You bring out sandwiches, snacks, drinks, the whole nine yards, all made by you, including the iced tea and lemonade. Kylo hums happily as he chews his bite of peanut butter and jelly, taking yet another chocolate chip cookie from the tin, “So good,” he mumbles around his mouthful of food, shoving the cookie into his mouth before he’s even swallowed the bite of sandwich. It’s terribly endearing, watching this large, intimidating man bedecked in his Armani suit, sitting on a picnic blanket happily shoving cookies that you made for him into his mouth. It tugs at your heart, clenches it tightly. You watch him happily munch with a warmth that could rival the sun.

You sit and talk for a while afterward, about everything and nothing. A couple walking a dog trot past and you coo at the sight, “I love dogs,” you sigh dreamily, to which Kylo agrees, “Me too.” You turn back to look at him as he continues, “My dad had one, from before I was born. His name was Chewie. That dog was my best friend for a long time.” He reminisces, looking fondly after the couple’s pooch. “What kind of a dog was he?” you ask, wanting to keep him talking about something he clearly has good memories of. “Some kind of big mutt,” he chuckles, “I’m not entirely sure what he was. But he was big, brown, and shaggy. Talkative too, for a big dog. Always huffing and harrumphing, like he was constantly tired of our shit.” This gets you laughing, which gets Kylo smiling, big and broad, “There it is,” he murmurs to himself.

“Is there anything else you’d like to do?” Kylo asks inquisitively, “I could take you to a show, or a museum, we aren’t far from the Museum of Natural History.” But you shake your head, “This is perfect.” He doesn’t look convinced though, pressing again, “There’s a concert happening tonight, some orchestra I’ve heard good things about, I could take you.” You’re resolute though, when you shake your head this time, “Why would I want to go listen to an orchestra when I can be here, talking to you?” He looks taken aback by this, eyes going wide and sad, “Why—,” he stutters, pushing his hair out of his face. The wind was starting to pick up and it was blowing his beautiful raven hair into his eyes, “I’m not that interesting to talk to.”

You give him a pointed look, fishing a hair tie out of your bag and getting up to crouch down behind him, “Take the compliment,” you say with finality, just like he had said to you once, all those weeks ago. With careful fingers you pull his hair back into a low ponytail, securing it with the tie. A few shorter strands still fly free, but for the most part his mane sits secured, and he thanks you with a raspy voice as you resume your spot across from him.

You take out the bag of oats you’d brought with you after the picnic has been cleaned up and packed away, making your way down closer to the pond together. You take a handful of oats and place them in Kylo’s palm, taking some more for yourself as you toss them out to the ducks who swim nearby. The ducks immediately react, gobbling up the oats, before advancing on the two of you. Kylo mimics you, tossing the ducks his handful of oats, smiling as the ducks happily chow down. The ducks advance closer, swarming around Kylo, quacking loudly at him. You hand him another handful as he looks down at the ducks, tossing the oats to them, but they’re even quicker to eat them up this time, quacking even louder. “Roughest guys I’ve ever had to deal with,” he murmurs as you hand him another handful of oats, “They drive a hard bargain.” You laugh, loving the soft expression on his face as he tells the ducks to calm down.

He leaves his hair in the ponytail you put it in for the rest of the day, even when he takes you to dinner that night. You like the way he looks with his hair pulled back, love how it lets his adorable ears peek out, even if he had pulled some of his hair free from the elastic to try and cover them up. They are large, yes, but so cute. When he smiles with his ears poking out like that he looks terribly endearing, absolutely boyish, you can’t help but grin back dreamily at him.

On the drive home, you fall asleep in the car, completely exhausted from the day’s activities. You wake to the feeling of powerful arms slipping around you, lifting you up, carrying you with ease. Bleary eyes crack open to reveal Kylo has you in his strong grip, “Go back to sleep,” he hushes, the sound of a door unlocking, dress shoes clicking on linoleum. You’re placed down on something soft, your shoes carefully removed, your body tucked under warm blankets. The smell is familiar, you must be home. “Goodnight angel,” he whispers, plush lips placing a soft kiss to your forehead, followed by the click of shoes retreating, and a door closing and locking. 

The next day, you wonder how he managed to lock himself out after he left, considering your house keys still sat in your purse.

He takes you to his place, for the first time. Another penthouse, much like the ones he’d taken you to in Europe, only this one is sleek and modern, lots of black. He gives you a tour, shows you the open format kitchen, the spacious living room set with an electric fireplace, the large balcony overlooking the Brooklyn skyline, the minimally designed bedroom. The walk-in closet in this penthouse might be bigger than your living room back home, rows of designer suits, designer shoes, designer watches all laid out with pristine organization. Although you can’t help but notice that, laid next to the beautifully displayed watches on a display all its own, rests a hair tie that looks awfully familiar.

He has a personal chef prepare dinner for you both, as you sit out on his balcony with glasses of wine. “My mother was the head of the family,” he begins, looking out at the twinkling lights, “she wasn’t a soft woman, by any means. People respected her, but as soon as she was sent away, there was chaos.”

You listen quietly, watching him closely, as he continues.

“I was only sixteen when it happened. I was planning on becoming a pilot, just like my grandfather had been in World War II, before he took over the family. But--,” he swallows, speaking with grave finality, “the decision was made. I became the head of the family, which, a lot of people didn’t like. They thought I was too young, too soft. So,” he looks almost regretful, “I proved them wrong.”

The image of a sixteen-year-old Kylo, tall and lanky, all big ears and big nose and big hands and awkward limbs, wide-eyed and upset as he’s told what he needs to do, materializes in your mind’s eye. Those same wide honey eyes glazing over with hate when he decides what he has to become, tug at your heartstrings. He was just a boy, _just a boy_ …

“I was ruthless,” he says without emotion, “so ruthless, that my mom contacted her brother from prison when she found out what I was doing, and begged him to give me guidance. He tried,” he shrugs, “until he saw the extent of what I was capable of. Then he became afraid of me, so afraid that he arranged for a hit.” Kylo turns to face you finally, eyes full of sorrow, anger, hurt, “He arranged a hit _on his own nephew_.” He looks away again, “he wasn’t successful, as you can see. Fled after that, went into hiding. Smart of him, because I wanted him dead.”

Your heart _aches_ at the pain that is so evidently etched across his features. You imagine that same wide-eyed sixteen-year-old boy being shot at, being hunted, and you want to _scream_ , want to _strangle_ whoever would even _dream_ of doing something like that to him. To your man. _To your Kylo._

“They wanted a monster,” he rasps, “so I gave them what they wanted. I became one. _I am one._ ”

Your heart wrenches right out of your chest, breath hitching in a barely restrained sob. He regards you with a mask of indifference, but broken eyes.

“You’re not a monster,” you warble around barely restrained tears, eyes pleading with him. _They_ made him what he is, _they_ forced his hand. He was just a boy, he just wanted to draw and play ice hockey and admire buildings, _they_ took that away from him.

And then had the audacity to _condemn_ him for it.

He shakes his head, “Not with you,” his eyes are fathomless, wanting, “Never with you.”

You reach for his hand, entwining his fingers with your own. He squeezes tightly, finishing the rest of his glass of wine in one big gulp before settling back against the couch. You sidle up to him, until he’s releasing your hand to put his arm around you instead, pulling you impossibly closer into his warm, safe embrace. A kiss is placed to the top of your head, and you both stay like that, huddled together like that, spending the rest of that time in silence, until the chef lets you know that dinner is ready. 

There was no need to put words to what just made itself known. It had been inevitable.

You’re at the zoo, when the monster is bid to emerge. It had been another wonderful day spent together, holding hands, laughing. He’d taken you to the Prospect Park Zoo in Brooklyn, loved watching the way you lit up and cooed and awed over all of the animals. The zoo had a few peacocks that liked to roam the grounds freely, one particular male making a show of displaying his beautiful plumage at the sight of you. Kylo puts up mock offence, “Do we got a problem?” he says to the peacock, exaggerating his accent, “I see you checkin’ out my girl, and I don’t like it.” The peacock squawks at him, ruffling its feathers, while you laugh hysterically beside Kylo. Kylo beams, tugging you closer, always closer, even as you’re leaving the zoo, heading for the waiting car.

Impossibly closer, when a group of three guys approaches you both, looks of disdain on their faces. “Kylo Ren,” one of them sneers, “Our boss has been tryin’ to get a hold of you, says you’re not pickin’ up. He’s offended.” 

“Is that so,” Kylo says with cold malice, tugging you behind him. All three guys eye you up with looks that make your skin crawl. “Yeah,” the main one says, “Looks like you’ve been distracted, eh? Pussy that good?” Kylo goes rigid, you feel it through the fabric of his clothes where you clutch him tightly. Faster than lightning Kylo pulls something out of his jacket, fires something silently that has two of the three men dropping to the ground before you can even blink. Then Kylo is lunging forward, slinging his entire mass into the main talker, knocking him to the ground as he punches his face bloody. 

When Kylo stands back up, the talker is now limp on the pavement, blinking slowly and gurgling blood, “Tell your boss to expect a visit,” Kylo announces coldly, deadly, before pulling you close once more and stalking off with you.

As soon as you’re safe in the back of the Rolls, Kylo is all apologies, “I’m sorry about that angel, are you alright?” But you’re too busy lifting his hands to your face, inspecting his battered knuckles. You tear off a section of fabric from your skirt, wrapping it around the split flesh to staunch the bleeding, “Are _you_ alright?” you ask with worried eyes, “I can clean these up when we get back to your place.”

Kylo couldn’t look more surprised if he tried.

That evening, having gone back to his Upper East Side penthouse to clean up his hands and have some after dinner drinks, you curl up together on his overstuffed black leather couch, gazing out the curtain wall windows at the glittering Brooklyn lights as you swipe away blood and disinfect split flesh. You take your time, cleaning every inch meticulously, until he’s patched up good as new. He gazes at you appreciatively, not even looking at his hands, not even seeing what kind of job you did. It didn’t matter, not really. That wasn’t what made the moment important. 

He gazes down at you with a reverence reserved for angels, and your heart flutters in your chest in response, so warm and happy to be here with him. You lean up and into his embrace, snuggling into his chest, letting his powerful arms hold you close. 

And then you kiss him. 

This time, there is no fan-fare, and certainly no tears. There isn’t an ounce of guilt left in your heart as you lean up into him, as your lips press into his firmly, resolutely, brushing his pillow-soft lips with hunger. His strong arms wind around you tighter, one hand cupping the side of your neck, and leans into you. This time, when his tongue traces the seam of your lips asking for entrance, you open up like a flower in bloom, just for him. Only him. His tongue licks into your mouth, tasting, exploring, and you twine yours with his in a slippery dance.

This moment, kissing passionately on his couch, is the happiest that you have ever been. And wonderfully, amazingly, miraculously, that sentiment is reflected in the gentle urging of his tender lips.

After that night, every day of the following month was spent with hands held and lips locked. Every night ended in a passionate kiss that had your toes curling and your heart soaring. He didn’t try to take things further with you, but he was hungry for more, it was obvious, written clear as day in the gaze he so fondly cast upon you. Kylo wanted more, wanted _you. All of you._ And you wanted to give yourself to him just as much, had there not been someone stopping you.

One night he took you to see Andrea Bocelli at Lincoln Center. You were decked out in a form-fitting gown that accentuated every curve, you’d even had your hair and makeup professionally done. But that wasn’t what did him in, no. You were always beautiful to him, whether dressed to the nine’s, or relaxing in your pajamas, curled up on your couch with a carton of ice cream in your lap while you watched reruns. No, it wasn’t just the way you looked. It was in the car ride back to his place afterward, you were pressed into his side, as always, with your hand tangled in his hair, gently stroking through his raven locks, as you hummed “The Prayer,” curled into his arm and tucked into his chest. When you looked up to meet his gaze, your eyes were absolutely sparkling, your face the portrait of contentment. 

You were so warm, and so happy, and so affectionate, and so perfect, and—and he couldn’t take it anymore.

When you get inside, Kylo walks over to the windows, hands limp at his sides as he gazes out at the Brooklyn skyline. You call him softly, approaching him with a cordial glass for each of you, but when he turns to face you, he steals your breath.

“I want you to marry me,” Kylo rasps, face stricken with emotion.

Your hands shake so badly you spill the cordials all over his floor, “I can’t,” you whimper, “Kylo, I’m married to Jimmy.”

“So leave him,” Kylo replies matter-of-factly, but his golden eyes are huge, pleading, “I’ll take care of you. You’ll never want for anything.”

But you shake your head, tears welling as you get out the words, “It isn’t that simple Kylo, you don’t understand,” you place the cordial glasses on the coffee table, wrapping your arms around yourself, “Jimmy—he said he’d _kill_ me if I tried to leave him.”

Kylo doesn’t say anything, he grits his jaw, honey eyes simmering with rage, and watches you fall apart. He opens his mouth, takes a step towards you, hand out-stretched, but you turn and run out the door, asking the driver to bring you home. There’s no use, you’ll never get away from Jimmy, all of this has been nothing more than a pleasant dream, but everyone has to wake up eventually.

Kylo doesn’t chase you, doesn’t call, doesn’t show his face for almost two weeks. You cry, every single night. Cry for a love you most certainly deemed lost. What did Kylo need with a woman he couldn’t be with? It had all been wishful thinking, on your part. A pleasant dream to grant you some escape from the terrible nightmare of your life. And now it was over, as all good things must come to an end.

The next time you see Kylo, it’s at another charity event, much like the one you’d first met him at. You’re on Jimmy’s arm, of course, and strangely enough, Kylo greets you both as if nothing is amiss. Even more strangely, he begins to treat you the way he did when you were alone with him. He speaks to you softly, asks you what you want, if everything is to your liking. He places his hands on you, cups the small of your back, drags fingertips up and down your spine, kisses your knuckles over and over again. When you need a drink, he’s the one flagging down a waiter, not your husband. He gazes deeply into your eyes every time you look at him, searching, pleading for something, but you don’t know what. 

Jimmy sees it all, of course he sees, a blind man could see how obviously Kylo is acting with you. It sets him on edge, staring at you both with unbridled malice. But ultimately he’s powerless to put a stop to it, Kylo holds all of the cards, _and he knows it._

Except for one. 

Much to Kylo’s furious dismay, that card goes home on another man’s arm that night.

Barely a day passes after the charity event before Jimmy is off on another errand, and Kylo’s driver has been sent to fetch you. When you arrive in his penthouse, Kylo is seething, you can feel the rage rolling off of him like a suffocating miasma. You’re cautious, even if Kylo had acted as if nothing had happened the prior night, you still had unfinished business, and you feared that his anger was all thanks to you.

In a sense, it was.

“He doesn’t deserve you!” He roars, flinging his glass of scotch at the wall, shattering on impact, “That useless piece of shit gets to come home to _you_ in his bed, after having spent the prior week _fucking everything that moves_!” He still isn’t looking at you, but even from behind you see the way he’s vibrating with rage, “Two cent sluts wearing the clothes _I gave you_! Flaunting them around like he’s some fuckin’ big shot, meanwhile _his own wife_ goes around in _rags_!” He reels on you then, not advancing, but eyes laser-focused on you, red-rimmed, the veins on his neck and forehead bulging, “ _HE DOESN’T FUCKING DESERVE YOU_!”

You shatter, heaving a sob as you try to answer him, “But what can I do, Kylo?” You throw your hands up helplessly, “He’ll kill me if I try to leave him!” 

Wrong answer. Kylo stalks towards you, all hell fury and fire, stopping within arm’s length of you, “You think I’d let him _lay a finger_ on you?” His expression morphs, turning malicious, “Is that really it? Is that really what’s stopping you from leaving?” You gape at him, trying to wrap your head around it all, but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond. His voice lowers, deadly soft, the malice slips into something far worse, something hurt, “Or do you just go along with all of this because you’re afraid to tell me ‘no’?”

Your heart stops in your chest, locked up and crushed with the terrible fear you feel in that final accusation. Never realizing that he could have taken this any other way, never thinking that Kylo could have his own hang-ups, his own insecurities. He always seemed so infallible, and yet… how many times had you seen those hesitant honey eyes watch you wearily after he’d presented you with something, told you something, asked you something? Watched you tensely as he waited for your reaction. It had been there all along, you’d just never put two and two together, until now.

You’d made a _terrible_ mistake, but you knew how to rectify it.

“ _No_!” you shout, standing up straight, face set with determination. That gets his attention. 

“That’s not it at all! Kylo,” you take a step towards him, letting your expression soften, wanting to be sure he felt the earnest truth in what you were about to say, because it is. It _is_ the earnest truth. It was obvious, plain as day, that this fact was undeniable, “I love you.”

Kylo is wrecked by your confession, closing the distance between you to take your face in his hands. He searches your eyes for the truth behind your words, and finds nothing but honesty, warmth, and care.

“Leave him,” he rasps, pleads, voice heavy with unshed tears, “I have a lawyer, you can meet with him tomorrow, get the paperwork going. Jimmy will sign it, I’ll make sure of it. I won’t—“ he swallows down a lump in his throat, “I won’t let him hurt you. I promise you, angel.”

Tears slip down your cheeks unbidden as you listen to the whispered words of your wrecked man. 

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, his composure all but crumbled at your feet.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s like the air has returned to the room. Kylo pulls you into him, locking you in a fierce embrace, before he’s kissing you senseless, plush pink lips on your cheeks, your temple, your nose, your mouth. He lifts you effortlessly, carries you into his bedroom, lays you across his California King mattress, and undresses you slowly, reverently, eyes flitting between yours and the swathes of skin he reveals. 

You don’t protest, there isn’t any reason to. Jimmy was a cheater, a liar, a terrible man. You’d put up with him for years under fear of penalty, but now? No more. Kylo had set you free, saw something in you and adored you for it. Gave you all of his attention, wore you proudly on his arm, wanted to spend every moment with you, talking to you, listening to you. Devoted time and effort to you, went out of his way to make you smile.

Jimmy hadn’t even known your shoe size.

You pull Kylo up to you, kissing him fervently, letting your eager hands unbutton his expensive shirt, slide it off his broad shoulders, tossing it aside. He’s all pale, carved muscle, like a marble statue, skin smooth and soft under your palms. He’s already gotten you naked before you’ve even gotten his pants off, and you tsk at him playfully in admonishment. He stops, taking in your tone, your playful smile, and grins, _actually grins_ , “Sorry, angel,” he murmurs, leaning back to slip off his pants and briefs. His cock springs free, already swollen and flushed, bobbing and wagging as he crawls back over you, reclaiming your lips. He lets his body cover you, skin to skin, warmth radiating off of him in waves, sinking in to your bones. He kisses his way down your neck, stopping to worship at your breasts, taking each nipple in his mouth to lave and suck at the hardened buds until you’re squirming beneath him, a writhing bundle of moans and needy whimpers.

His path continues down your stomach, parting your legs for him as he approaches the apex of your thighs. You let them fall open wide for him, offering yourself to his lust-filled gaze. He settles in between your thighs, hooking your legs over his broad shoulders, parting your folds with thick fingers to stare in reverence. You squirm, but one large hand moves to lay flat across your belly, pinning you in place, “ _Beautiful_ ,” he murmurs, before nuzzling in to your pussy. He licks and sucks at your folds, nibbling at them. The he runs his tongue from entrance the clit, over and over, long, broad strokes that have you bucking into him. He focuses at your entrance, nosing your clit as he swirls and dips his tongue inside of you. Then he drags his tongue back up, swirling it around your clit. He flicks up and over the little nub, just enough pressure to leave you needy, your hands seeking purchase in his luscious mane. One thick finger dips inside of you, pushes in and out, crooks and rubs at your front wall until your moan is one continuously held note.

You feel the heat coiling in your belly, tightened little by little with every press of his finger, every pass of his tongue. Your thighs snap shut, he lets them stay that way, lets them press into his adorable jug handle ears. Your back begins to arch, bowing up from the tightening pleasure, one hand flying wide to grasp at the sheets in a white knuckle grip. Plush lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently, sending sparks of pleasure sizzling up your spine. All at once your core explodes like fireworks, eyes rolling back and sliding shut as you moan out your orgasm, high and loud.

When Kylo pulls away from you, his lips and chin are slick with your arousal, he rubs it on the back of his hand and makes his way back up your body, hungry eyes like a lion stalking its prey. He kisses you deeply, and you taste yourself on his lips, but it only has you pressing deeper.

He settles himself between your parted thighs, resting his throbbing need at your entrance. 

But he doesn’t go any further, pulling away instead to meet your eyes, and waits. His gaze searches your face for something, an answer perhaps, so you nod, eyes warm and happy. His lips press tightly together, jaw working, swallowing hard, before he leans in to kiss you once more. He settles down on an elbow while his other hand grabs the base of his cock, catching himself on your slick entrance. He’s large, _very_ large, and you wonder if he’ll even fit. Jimmy had a pencil dick, and even still, you’d barely had sex these last few years, you might as well be a virgin, for as tight as you likely are. Kylo presses forward, stretching you open around him, moving slowly, even slower when he hears the way you hiss. He rocks back and forth gently to open you up slowly, inch by painful inch, stretching you in ways you’d never felt before, until after what felt like an eternity his entire enormous girth was nestled inside of you. He lets out a shaky breath you hadn’t known he’d been holding, and the hand that had been clutching his dick comes up to stroke your face, thumb running over the creases in your forehead, trying to smooth them out. the gesture is tender, loving, you melt at how much he cares.

The sting fades, replaced by a suffocating need to feel him move, so tentatively you rock your hips. Kylo squeezes his eyes shut, clamping one hand on your hips to still you. he grits his teeth, breathes out, and opens his eyes, “Are you ready?” he whispers, and you nod your head yes.

He looks down to where your bodies are joined and begins to pump his hips, slowly at first, barely even pulling himself out. But as he moves, his thrusts begin to lengthen, pulling all the way out to the flare of his head before sliding back in. His speed picks up too, rutting into you faster and faster, the squelch of your wet walls loud in the quiet room, his chest flushing to the tips of his ears with the exertion. 

He gets up on his knees, picks up your legs, bracketing them in his arms to hold them perpendicular to him, changing the angle of what his cock is able to hit. You cry out, moaning at the pleasure, panting and sweating at the unbelievable feeling of having him inside of you, more and more of your wet arousal slicking up and coating his enormous cock. he grabs the back of your knees, one in each hand, and pushes forward, changing the angle yet again, the spot he hits making you scream.

“Say my name,” he growls, “tell me who’s fucking you.”

“Kylo!” you shout, “Oh, god, Kylo!”

He leans further forward, propping your legs on his shoulders, looking deeply into your eyes, which struggle to stay open, “You’re mine now,” he growls, “Your husband ever fuck you like this? He ever take care of you like you deserve? No.” You cry out a chanting chorus of ‘Kylo’, an orgasm coiling in your belly that’s ready to explode, egged on by his filthy words. He doesn’t relent, “But you’re mine now, and I’ll make sure you never want for anything _ever_ again.”

He strikes harder, deeper, tears slip down your cheeks from overwhelming pleasure, his cock spearing you over and over again. “You’re mine!” he barks, “Tell me who you belong to!”

“You!” you scream, “Kylo! I belong to you, I belong to Kylo!”

“FUCK!” he roars, licking his thumb to circle your already sensitive clit with. You cry out and shiver, writhing with the strength of the pleasure he pulls from you, until finally he’s dragging you over the edge, walls clenching and fluttering around his cock, cumming all over him with a loud cry. It squirts and drips down his length, his balls, his pelvis, coating him in you.

He’s quick to follow, pumping in deep, striking to the hilt as he empties his seed inside of you, pressing it in until it’s safely tucked away. That’s where it belongs after all, inside the beautiful pussy of his perfect woman. _His_.

Slowly, carefully, he leans back, taking the pressure off of your legs, letting them down gently on either side of him. He settles down on top of you, wrapping his arms around you to roll you both over so that you’re laying on top of him, his cock still nestled inside of your wet warmth. 

He holds you tight to his chest, just like that, for what must be hours. You listen to the steady thump of his heart, rising and falling with his breaths, letting your fingers dance across the broad expanse of his pectoral. He strokes your hair, trails fingers down your back, touching every inch of you. 

Every inch of what’s _his_.


	5. Fingers on Your Skin, Let My Savage In (You Deserve It)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, here we are at the final chapter. I hope you have all enjoyed this little tale, your comments and kudos have all been incredibly appreciated. If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr to see what else my terrible brain concocts, you can find me over at Contesa-lui-Alucard
> 
> One more time, please heed the tags. Violence, Murder, and Sex all await you, and I don't want to see anyone accidentally triggered.
> 
> Thanks again, and enjoy!

After what feels like many hours later, you shower together, taking your time running soapy hands over eachother’s bodies in reverent strokes. Kylo worships every inch of you, memorizes every dip and curve, traces them with warm, calloused hands until there isn’t a single swathe of skin left unappreciated. 

You redress together, he helps you into your shoes, you fix his collar, taking more time than you both know is necessary. Once you’re both presentable you stop to gaze at eachother forlornly, knowing the inevitable can no longer be put off. Jimmy would be home from his errand early tomorrow morning, and so for at least one more night, you had to pretend to be Mrs. DiLeo. Kylo assured you his lawyer would be ready to begin the proceedings come tomorrow, kissing your knuckles in what you’ve come to learn must be meant to be a soothing gesture. He takes you home, both of your hands linked with his for the duration of the ride, and kisses you slowly before he lets you out of the car. “You’re mine,” he murmurs into your pliant lips, large hand eclipsing the side of your face, your neck, “everything is going to be alright, now.”

You wonder which of you needs to hear that more.

His driver opens the door for you and with reluctance you pull away from Kylo, stepping out. The walk to your front door feels like a death march, even though what will actually be dying is something to celebrate. But it isn’t the impending ending of your relationship with Jimmy that has you upset, no. It’s having to part from Kylo, especially when his big golden eyes look so sad to let you go. You offer one last look over your shoulder before unlocking your front door, disappearing into the dark house.

You head straight for the bedroom, clicking on the light and removing your shoes, when someone grabs a handful of your hair and slams your head against the wall.

“ _YOU FUCKING SLUT_!” Jimmy roars, throwing you to the ground. You cry out, but before the sound has even finished coming out of your mouth Jimmy is on top of you, punching you across the face, “YOU STUPID WHORE, YOU’RE FUCKING HIM AREN’T YOU! I FUCKIN’ KNEW IT, YOU DIRTY FUCKIN’ WHORE, YOU’RE FUCKING REN!” He spits and screams into your face as he punches you again, before wrapping both hands around your throat.

You gasp and claw at his hands, but the wind has been knocked clean out of you, there’s no strength behind your defense. Jimmy stares down at you, eyes wild, vicious, he’s going to kill you, and desperately you will yourself to fight him off, it can’t end like this, not with happiness so close at hand. 

_So long_ , it’s been so long since you got to be happy. Jimmy _can’t_ take it away from you, not this time, not this, not Kylo.

But you aren’t strong enough, Jimmy’s fingers tighten around your throat, the edges of your vision blur black. 

This is it. 

He finally did it. 

You knew this would happen some day, if you didn’t leave. 

You knew this would happen even if you did. 

You thrash with all your might, but it’s no use, Jimmy is too heavy, too pumped up with rage, Kylo is going to find your corpse tomorrow, and that will be the tragic end to this pleasant dream.

Jimmy is yanked off of you and tossed against the wall with all of the heft of a ragdoll, as strong hands gently lift you up off of the floor. Through tear-blurred eyes and terror you realize it’s Kylo, honey eyes big and round with worry, “Angel?” he asks, voice heavy with concern. Jimmy groans behind him, and you watch as Kylo’s entire expression goes dark, shuts off, morphs into unbridled hatred. Someone else takes a hold of your arm, tugging you back gently, as Kylo turns to face Jimmy, who struggles to get back up on his feet. 

Kylo swells in size like a grizzly bear as he squares up with him, “ _Get her to the car and get her home_ ,” he grits out to whoever is tugging you away. Dumbly you turn to look at them, they appear familiar, someone Kylo has undoubtedly greeted on one of your many outings together, and when they meet your eyes they smile sympathetically, “Come on,” they urge gently, “You don’t wanna be here for this.”

You nod, and let them lead you outside, but not before giving one last look to Kylo, who looms over Jimmy. The violence in the air is palpable.

Kylo’s driver is already standing at the back door of the Rolls, holding it open for you, brow wrinkling in concern when he catches a better look at you. He turns to the man who’s lead you outside, “Just in time,” he says. To which the man at your arm replies, “Yeah, Tony couldn’t get the words out fast enough once he saw it go down. Good thing you’re quick on that wheel.” Both the driver and the man at your arm help you into the back seat, and just as they’re closing the door you hear blood-curdling screams coming from inside what was once your home.

They didn’t belong to Kylo.

Hours pass in slow motion. You’re taken to Kylo’s penthouse just as he’d wanted, where someone who tells you they’re a nurse fusses over your injuries. They conduct a few tests, dab at some cuts, hand you an ice pack, and tell you to rest, but not to fall asleep. Jimmy bashed your head pretty hard, and there’s a possibility you have a concussion. You’re going to have quite the sore throat for a while too, but luckily no real damage was done. You croakily thank them as they go, waiting until you’re alone to get comfortable in some of the lounge clothes Kylo had gotten for you. So many of your belongings were here now, in—in Kylo’s home. Just like in Europe, half of his closet now belonged to you, loaded with everything you could have ever wanted. But what you really want, or rather whom, isn’t here, much to your dismay. So you curl up on the big leather couch with a soft throw pulled around your shoulders, putting something on the TV that you aren’t really watching, anxious to have Kylo home. 

It’s well past midnight when the door finally clicks open, but you are wide awake.

He’s covered in blood, some of it splattered on his face, most of it concentrated on his torso and pants. You sprint over to him so fast the blood rushes to your head, but he catches your arms in steady hands. You regather your bearings and assure him you’re fine before beginning to assess him. His face is expressionless, if not a little tired and a touch relieved. He looks you over, but you’re quick to assuage his concern, “I’m fine,” you croak, “my throat is sore, but there’s no real damage. And the nurse suggested I shouldn’t go to sleep tonight, just in case I have a concussion. But that’s all, everything else is okay.” His eyes flicker impossibly darker, but he nods. 

“Are you… okay?” you ask tentatively, eyes raking over his body, searching for injuries. He gives one sharp nod and you sigh in relief, “Come,” you urge, taking his hand, and he lets you lead him to the bathroom. You throw a towel down on the floor and begin to undress him, tossing all of his bloodied clothes in a heap on the towel until he’s completely bare. You give yourself a quick look-over, no blood, so you strip off and hang your things on a hook by the door, before tip-toing over to the tub. You get the water going, adding some salts, checking the temperature, gathering some washcloths, all while Kylo looms behind you, silent as a sentry. When the bath is ready you take his hand and lead him gently into the water, guiding him to sink down in the fragrant pool. He does, settling in, and quickly you get to work scrubbing him clean. You hum while you work, something light and happy, frequently meeting Kylo’s eyes, all in what you hope is a comforting gesture. When you ask him to turn around so you can wash his hair, he does, sloshing water around him as he turns his broad back to you. You begin to notice things you hadn’t caught sight of earlier, a series of terrible scars littering his chest, torso and back. They look old, healed, but no less terrible, and you wonder how he got them. You’ll ask him, some day. After all, you have nothing but time, now.

Nimble fingers rub soothingly against his scalp, and little by little you watch the tension in his shoulders relax. By the time you’re rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, one of his hands has snaked behind him to grab your thigh. When the conditioner is being rinsed out, his breathing seems to have returned to normal. When he turns back around to face you, he looks— _frightened_. And your brow furrows in concern, “Kylo?” You prompt. His eyes watch you closely, he’s listening. “Is—are you—,” you fumble for words, not entirely sure what to ask, instead settling on, “Thank you.”

But he shakes his head, “I should’ve been faster,” he croaks, “I shouldn’t have let you go back there.” His eyes trace the side of your face, your throat, all of it aches fiercely, you can only imagine what you must look like. His voice drips out choppy and broken, “I was sloppy. I’m sorry.”

“What did you do to him?” you ask, the curiosity is unbearable.

“You’ll never have to worry about him again,” Kylo answers with finality.

You sigh in relief, there is no sadness for Jimmy, no guilt, only the lifting of a burden, “Then all is well.”

Kylo looks unconvinced, but you smile at him, sidling up to slide into his lap, “You saved me, Kylo,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around him, “I love you.”

Kylo’s breath hitches, honey eyes swimming in unshed tears. Strong arms come up to circle around your ribs, pulling you close to him. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling in to the tender flesh, “I love you too, angel.”

You stroke his back, his hair, rubbing soothing motions into his skin until he releases you, mumbling about getting pruney. You smile, climbing out of the tub and handing him a towel, drying off together before exiting to the bedroom to dress. 

His eyes haven’t left you from the minute he came home, and you begin to tease him with it. Wiggling your hips at him when you pass him by, bending over to give him a very generous view. He catches on to your game, a smirk curling up the corner of his lip after the fifth pass, “You know,” he murmurs, “the nurse said you couldn’t go to sleep tonight, right?” You hum in agreement, already catching on to his train of thought. “I think I know a thing or two we could do to keep you awake,” he growls with a grin.

You bite your lip, heading for the bedroom, giving your ass a little wiggle at the door, “How about you come show me?”

Kylo doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He’s up and across the room in the blink of an eye, hands gently encapsulating your hips, kissing along your shoulder and neck as he leads you to his bed. He releases you to let you climb on to the mattress yourself, settling yourself in the center, before climbing up to join you, kissing his way up your body until his face is inches above yours. 

The sight of a wild, vicious Jimmy hovering over you as he chokes the life out of you flashes before your eyes and you gasp, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Kylo realizes immediately, quickly settling himself beside you as he brings a hand up to stroke tenderly at your face, “He’s gone,” he coos, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you, angel.” You shake your head, it isn’t Kylo’s fault, but perhaps you need a little time before anyone hovers over you like that again. “I have an idea,” you whisper, letting your eyes flutter open to meet Kylo’s gaze. He watches you carefully, honey orbs full of concern as you sit up, pushing him flat on to his back and climbing on top of him. The concern melts into thick desire as you settle yourself onto his thigh, knees on either side of his powerful leg, gazing down at him with unbridled love and affection. He lets his big, calloused hands grip your hips gently as you begin to grind against his thigh, moaning softly as you catch just the right angle that sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your clit. He bites his lip and groans at the sight, your petal soft lips rubbing hot against his skin, beginning to feel the tell-tale wetness of your desire smearing against him. His cock fills out quickly, already so needy for you, for what you are willing to give him. Thick fingers find your sensitive little nub, rubbing circles around it, getting you gasping, whining, breasts bouncing with each rut of your hips.

He lets you take, lets you have whatever you want, lets you use him however you desire, until he can’t take it anymore, until he’s pulling your hips, pulling your legs open, straddling you around him, until those hot, wet, petal soft lips are grinding against his thick length. You take him in your hand, in a grip that is just shy of actually closing around him, and lift yourself up as you angle him to your entrance. You impale yourself upon him slowly, so achingly deliciously slowly that you feel every ridge, every vein, as he slides inside of you.

The groan he lets out is deep, rumbling, undiluted pleasure, at the feeling of your tight, wet heat. Once he is nestled completely inside, your body relaxes on to him, your palms finding purchase on his plump pectorals, your eyes glued to eachother. He stares up at you like the holy angel herself has come down from Heaven to sit on his cock, and maybe it’s true. Maybe you really are that special, maybe you’ve been special all along. Maybe you just needed someone to remind you, to appreciate you for who you are, not who you could be for them.

You begin to ride him slowly, deliberately, taking and giving pleasure in measured inches, until you’re both moaning and sighing and grabbing, until he can’t take it anymore and begins to buck up into you, hard, fast, hitting that spot inside of you that makes you scream, a spot you didn’t even know you had, maybe he was the only one who could hit it, your body made it especially for him. You’re crumpling over him, so overwhelmed with pleasure you can barely hold yourself up, Kylo is saying something, low, mumbling it over and over again through teeth gritted from the effort of his thrusts. You fall apart, collapsing on top of him, crying and moaning and screaming his name as your walls flutter and clench around him, drenching him in your desire.

He kisses every inch of your face after he finishes inside of you, until you’ve both managed to catch your breaths. It’s nearly dawn, you notice, as he carries you from the bed into the bathroom, and you decide to spend these last few hours of the night in your robes on the balcony, sipping glasses of champagne, toasting to your future together.

That morning, after having showered off the night’s activities and dressing in some comfortable lounge clothes, you sit down to a lavish breakfast that Kylo had a personal chef come over and prepare. Just as you’re finishing your plate Kylo takes your left hand into his and slips something on to your ring finger. You blink at it, dumbfounded at first, until the situation, the symbolism sinks in. It’s a beautiful white gold band, one large cushion cut diamond sat in the center, surrounded by a square halo of stones. It glints beautifully, shimmering, just like your heart. Happy tears leak down your face when you lift your head to meet Kylo’s gaze, who smiles warmly at you in response. 

“Your things are being brought over today,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “I had room made in the walk in closet. Feel free to change anything you want, and tell me if there’s particular furniture you want brought over, too.”

You nod, unable to speak, overflowing with emotion. This man, this frightening, powerful man, who treats you like a goddess and cares for you with ferocity, has made a home in your heart. There is nothing but happiness and love in your eyes, and you see it reflected right back at you in those warm golden depths.

Six months later, you’re married at Battery Gardens before a crowd of roughly 200 guests. When you say, “I do,” Kylo’s eyes rim red, he swallows harshly, barely choking out his reply. When he kisses you, it knocks the wind out of you. “I love you, Mrs. Ren,” he mumbles into your lips, which finally breaks the dam of tears you’d been trying so hard to keep up. Everyone claps and cheers and smiles, especially Kylo, who grins so wide, so care-free, it’s like the clouds parted above you. 

Many of Kylo’s associates are in attendance, as are many of your family and friends. As far as they knew, Jimmy had run off with another woman. None of them seemed sad about it, nor were they sad for you, once they met Kylo. It’s a night to remember, full of love, laughter and dancing. From start to finish Kylo’s eyes don’t leave you for a second, and truth be told his eyes haven’t left you at all, not since the incident. Not that you mind, you’re comforted by Kylo’s care, comforted by the thought that he’s always watching over his angel. You especially don’t mind that night, after the reception, when you’re back at your penthouse showing him your bridal lingerie. Kylo’s eyes could have burned holes through lace and silk that night, and you still wouldn’t have minded.

Your honeymoon is spent where it all began, a week in Italy, a week in Greece, even a week in France. This time, you kiss him as much and as often as possible. This time, he doesn’t sleep on the couch. This time, you two spend more time naked on the penthouses’ balconies than you do walking the lovely streets, but that’s exactly why Kylo allotted for extra time in each place, this time around.

You even cook him another dinner, and this time Kylo doesn’t protest. He never protests anymore, in fact, he’s become quite spoiled by the home cooked meals you prepare for him almost nightly, and has even taken an interest himself in cooking.

Your wedding gift to him, a sketchbook and pencil set, brought tears to his eyes. It doesn’t leave his side, just like you, which might be why most of the sketches are of you, although you do convince him that you don’t mind sitting with him as he sketches some of the landmarks and scenery. It’s no coincidence that upon your return from your honeymoon, Kylo begins looking into architectural drawing classes, much to your delight.

In return, you’re given the freedom to do whatever you want. Work or don’t work, take classes, take workshops. Kylo encourages you to do whatever your heart desires, and for the first time in a long time, you truly feel in control of your life.

One year later the charity event that had once brought you together is now inviting you to return. It doesn’t take much convincing, perhaps a touch of sentimentality, to get you both to agree. It’s a completely different experience this time around though, showing up on Kylo’s arm, introducing yourself as Mrs. Ren. 

You prefer it greatly. 

All of Kylo’s associates know you now. After all, you attend every meeting, you have a say in all of his decisions, you are his right hand woman and confidant. They greet you the same way they greet him, if not with even more respect, and Kylo wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Besides, everyone knows what happens to men who disrespect you. 

Amidst the night’s festivities, a man approaches Kylo, wearing an ill-fitting suit and with too much grease in his hair. He introduces himself, before turning to yank his wife over, a meek woman who looks nervously from her brutish husband, to Kylo, to you, offering a quiet hello. The man has too much confidence, attempting to sell Kylo on investing in his construction company, proclaiming it the best in the business. The scene is entirely too familiar, and you look to his meek wife with a pang of sympathy. Kylo undoubtedly sees the similarities as well, turning to you to ask for your opinion, much to the greasy man’s offence. It seems the opinion of women doesn’t rank too highly with this man, only further digging his grave.

“It sounds like a great opportunity,” you smile at Kylo, “I think you should invest.”

Kylo’s shark-like grin is terrifying, blood is in the water, and you’ve just sealed his fate.


End file.
